


Bravery

by pointlessrythm



Series: NaNo Fiction [1]
Category: Brave (2012)
Genre: Adventure, Archery, Arranged Marriages, Dragons, Druid religion doesn't give a about your lovers gender, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Ghosts, Growing Up, Hunting, Kelpies, M/M, Magic, Maturing, Mild Language, Minor Character Death, Original Characters - Freeform, Original Places, Pirates, Poison, Political Intrigue, Romance, Selkies, Sibling drama, Slow Romance, Swords, Violence, War, bandits, friendship to romance, friendships, injuries, minor character background relationships, side characters, time traveling, treasure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-01-26 12:59:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1689185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pointlessrythm/pseuds/pointlessrythm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Princess Merida of clan Dunbroch runs away the night of her Betrothal right into the standing stones. Knocked unconscious before the Will-o-the-Wisps can lead her towards her fate, Merida's own desperation to get away leads her across time and into the path of the one man she is destined to love.</p><p>Prince Murchadh of clan Moireach, the eldest of Kind Dùghlas' four sons, carries the weight of his beloved kingdom upon his shoulders. Ambitious and willing to do whatever it takes to see his Kingdom survive the centuries; he has gone, and will continue to go, to great lengths to see his kingdom stand. With war threatening his people, and the failing health of his father, even he may fail in his self appointed task.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for NaNoWriMo July Camp, my goal was 50k. This is what I've polished up for posting. It's only half finished, but I will finish up the last five chapter soon so I've decided to start posting these. Enjoy.
> 
> Be forewarned, there are a LOT of original characters in this story. Some are based on characters mentioned in Brave, others were created out of necessity.

__ Chapter 1 _ _

  

_This is a story about Fate._

_This is a story about life, love and forgiveness._

_This is a tale about Change and Chance._

_This is the story of Princess Merida of Dunbroch,_

_And how she saved one man from the darkness in us all._

 

It begins on the night of her Betrothal. The announcement races through the castle like a windswept fire. Burning through her veins, it fills her with mindless rage. What right have they to tether her to another. What right have they to demand her hand like some trophy; to treat her like an object. Before she can come to her senses she’s facing her mother. Everything in her world narrows down to the woman who is ruining her life, stealing her freedom.

Before she can stop it, she’s yelling. Screaming and fighting, desperately trying to claw her way out of this cage she can feel tightening around her. She’s trapped and terrified, balancing on the knife-edge of her sanity like an acrobat without training. And before she can regain her balance, before she can summon up the calm girl she usually is, her footing is torn out from under her with vicious glee as her mother tosses her favorite bow into the hearth. It feels like poising running down her throat, like a knife in the back after a gentle embrace; this snake in the grass that she hadn’t even thought to look for. And as she watches her most precious gift burn in the fire become blurred through her tears, she knows she cannot stay.

Her race from the room and from the Castle of Dunbroch is only the beginning. She urges her charger, Angus, faster into the depths of the unclaimed wilderness of their borders, shuddering in the evening chill as it whips past her. She loses herself in the ride as Angus puts miles and then leagues between them and the castle of traitors behind her. Her arms numb from the wind biting at them with frigid teeth, her hair whipping wildly behind her like a streak of fire in the night, she hunches into Angus’ neck, tears dripping into the sleek coat of his collar.

It is only with a terrified shriek and sudden lurch that Merida comes back to herself, just long enough to feel weightless as she soars over Angus’ shank and hurtles through the air. Her eyes widen slightly as she looks back at her stead’s frightened and crazed eyes, just long enough to see the terror looming beneath his skin and a brief reflection of stone. As abrupt as the stop that jerked her into awareness, she is thrown into pain; and then the world goes dark. Above her still form, the sky rumbles in displeasure and the clouds break. As the sky weeps onto the earth, lightning lights the night briefly in a dazzling display and when the light fades, the standing stones are bare.

 

* * *

 

 

It is the last day of the Royal hunt, and already Murchadh is weary of the chase. His three younger brothers are still itching to catch their prey, though the castle larder is full of their previous triumphs. The eldest son of King Dùghlas of clan Moireach rises from his bedroll and dresses for the last ride of the hunting party. The resplendent cloth and leather of his ensemble a reminder of his status as a prince, though his noble baring and proud stride would be difficult to mistake.

“Brother, are you up yet? If you lay abed any longer we’ll miss the hunt!” A bright chuckle carried through the cloth door of Murchadh’s tent.

“Ha,” Murchadh deep and raucous laugh rattled through his broad shoulders and out his thin lips, “If you miss the hunt, little brother, I shall not be surprised to learn it was your own doing. If you lose another stocking to a ‘vicious’ bush I will not be held accountable,” He left the warmth of his tent to join his brothers in the chilled morning air, a cloud of tepid breath trailing from his mouth.

His youngest brother, Rodaidh, of just seventeen years, pouted at him with their mother’s green eyes. His lower lip stuck out to incite pity at his careless fight with the undergrowth of the woodlands. These two features did not sit well on the boy’s young face, the jaw too broad and the brow too low, nose crooked slightly to the left after one too many pummels from his opponents shield or practice blade. Although the issues with the forest’s undergrowth might be a side issue from his gangly limbs and still shifting balance due to his awkward growth. Murchadh shook his head with a chuckle and turned away from Rodaidh with a slight smile tugging at his thin lips and settled his gaze onto his other siblings.

Niallghas, only two years younger than Murchadh and the second eldest, was propped over his horse’s saddlebags and inspecting his supplies for the morning. Niallghas was the stockiest and shortest of the four brothers, broad shouldered and heavy set with a wide face and oddly thin nose. Their father’s dark eyes set deeply beneath thick brows and their mother’s reddish brown locks.

Teàrlaidh was sitting on his steed beside Niallghas, with his most charming smile pasted across his face. Of the four, Teàrlaidh was considered the most handsome. Just coming upon his nineteenth year, the third brother had already slept through most of the castle’s female staff and half of the allied Lord’s daughters as well (and Murchadh suspected several of the wives, too). He took after their mother the most, paler skin and smoother features. His face was thinner than the other three, well defined but softened with a layer of fat the others had worked off through vigorous training. His build was lithe and willowy, “built like a sprig” as their father would say.

“Come on brothers, before the day gets away from us. Let us be off,” Teàrlaidh beckoned and set his steed at a trot. “I am not losing to Murchadh today, I intend to catch that stag if it is the last thing I do,” he called back over his shoulder.

“Knock your self out little brother, I am not hunting for points today,” Murchadh called as he mounted his roan horse, “I do not think any of you can best my last kill. A black bear tops a stag any time” Niallghas guffawed loudly as he followed behind them, leaving Rodaidh to scramble for his gear and mount.

The hunt began shortly there after, and as he had said, Murchadh let his steed trot through the forest at a leisurely pace, preferring the ride to the race his youngest brothers had proposed. Their cantering racket drifting back to him on the breeze. Within the hour, even the din of his brother’s horseplay had faded from his surroundings, and the woods were still in breathless apprehension. It was into this silence that Murchadh hesitated, a distant echo creeping by his ears. And then, a bit louder, the sound of a horse’s bray came calling from deeper in the woods. Nudging his mount towards the sound, Murchadh wondered if perhaps his brothers had lost their steed. But when he came upon the horse, he hesitated. The creature was magnificent. A stocky breed with well defined musculature and a finely crafted saddle, but the black and white horse was unfamiliar to him. Perhaps one of his Father’s visiting allies? It took him a moment to notice the other figure in the clearing, sprawled across the grass before the unfamiliar steed. Alarmed and slightly surprised, Murchadh dismounted and looped his reigns around a low branch before slowly approaching the fallen figure. The unfamiliar horse made no move to attack him as he neared, but whinnied softly in distress.

As he knelt beside the figure, he noticed the slim build and the slender hand peaking from the cape. The cascade of fiery orange locks that curled in messy artistry against the dewed meadow. A lady? None of the hunting party were female, a fact that had caused Teàrlaidh to complain passionately for the first week of their hunt.

“Miss?” He called softly, placing a hand on one cloth-covered shoulder and shaking lightly “Miss, are you alright?” No answer was forthcoming.

He maneuvered the woman onto her back before hesitating. He needed to check for injuries, but the lady’s honor couldn’t be tainted. With a sigh he unclasped her cloak and felt gingerly along her arms and ribs, remaining detached in his inspection. Nothing was broken above the waist, but he would not touch her legs. She had several swollen welts along her ribs but nothing dangerous, and her clothing was ruined. Moving to inspect her head, he ran gentle fingers across her scalp and felt only a few mild bumps. When he brushed the hair from her face to feel for a fever, he found himself inspecting the stranger’s face. She was younger than he first thought, being not yet twenty. Her cheeks were flush with fever, lips slightly parted, small nose dusted with freckles. She had yet to out-grow the roundness of her features, but she may never.

“You do not, perchance, have a riding party with you?” Murchadh glanced up at the young lady’s horse, which snorted at him in answer. Or perhaps it was just a coincidence. With a sigh, Murchadh gave a brief nod and clasped her cloak back together before wrapping it tightly around her frame to keep the chill from her. Then with a slight grunt, he hoisted her into his arms and settled her against his broad chest. Keeping her balanced against him with one arm, he snagged her mount’s reigns with his free hand and led him back towards his own steed.

After tying the reigns to the back of his saddle, and retrieving his own horse’s leads, he climbed into his saddle, careful not to dislodge the young lady, and set a quick pace back towards the camp. They had brought several healers with them incase they came across a boar or several bears. Some of the visiting Lords and their sons had needed them for small things, but otherwise they had been mostly just precaution. The distance was swallowed by the horses’ quick pace, and he returned to the camp just before the serving of the noon meal. After handing off both steeds to one of the servants in the camp and informing the man to place the gear in his tent, he took the young lady to see his father’s personal healer.

The Healing tent, a white beacon near the middle of the camp, was open and relatively quiet. Most of the healers inside were packing with a relaxed manner, as they had no patients to handle.

“Fetch Healer Camran for me,” Murchadh ordered to one of the younger healers by the door. As the boy scurried away to fetch the man, Murchadh set the girl on one of the tables, careful not to accidently jostle her, just incase she was more injured than he had first thought.

“My Lord, you summoned me?” He turned to look at the old man approaching. Camran was the oldest member of the hunting party, his grey hair thinning and his skin lined with years of fulfilling work and wisdom. The elderly man was slightly hunch backed after years bent over a writing desk and scrolls.

“Camran,” Murchadh began when the man was close enough to see the girl he’d brought, “I found her several hours out from the camp. She was unconscious at the time and she has not woken. I suspect she was thrown from her horse, but I am unsure why or when.” He stepped away from the table so the man could examine her without obstacles.

“I shall see if there is anything to be done, my Lord,” Camran bowed his head briefly before beginning his examination. Nodding in acceptance, Murchadh left the Healer’s tent and went to find his father to ask after any other hunting parties in the woodlands on their border.

 

It was only a few hours later when Camran found Murchadh, Niallghas and the King sitting over a richly detailed map of the known borders of the kingdom.

“My Lords, please forgive my interruption but the young lady has awoken,” Camran bowed in greeting.

“Did she say anything?” Murchadh sat a bit taller in his chair, curious about the young woman he had discovered in the clearing.

“Yes, my Lord, she is Princess Merida of clan Dunbroch,” Camran hesitated before continuing, “Her father is King Fergus, though I have never heard of the kingdom she does bear a finely crafted pendant with the marks of royalty,”

“It is possible,” King Dùghlas stroked the thick beard on his jaw in contemplation, “I have received little news from beyond this wood,”

“So little?” Murchadh barely managed to keep the angered incredulity from his voice, though a muscle in his jaw twitched with the force of his disbelief. Moireach was an extensive kingdom, to have such little information on their border chilled his spine.

“It is this blasted forest, I swear!” King Dùghlas laughed off the weakness with an easy smile, “It is a damned nuisance. Enchanted, wretched thing,”

Niallghas bust into hearty laughter at his father’s words, magic, such a ridiculous notion. Murchadh’s eyes narrowed briefly before he smoothed his expression and turned back to the healer.

“Did she say anything else?”

“Yes, my lord,” Camran nodded politely, “She was thrown from her horse while escaping from an unwanted betrothal,”

Murchadh nodded, he had expected the method of injury but the confirmation was necessary. The betrothal was odd, however. The girl looked about Rodaidh’s age, possibly younger. Most definitely not an eligible age for marriage, surely, unless the practices of Dunbroch were far different from Moireach and their allies.

“If there is nothing else, my lords, I must return to the lady’s side,” Camran bowed again.

“Perhaps we should accompany you, our business can be continued later and the young lady must have questions,” Murchadh stood from his seat and rolled the map, tying it carefully with a thin string of leather.

“Of course, of course, the poor dear,” King Dùghlas stood and motioned to the few servants waiting nearby to pack up the King’s tent.

“As you will, my lords,” Camran waited patiently by the door to follow the party back to the healer’s tent.

 

* * *

 

 

Merida moaned in pain. Her first conscious thought was of the pounding in her head and the aching of her chest. She had not felt like this since she had fallen off her first horse. She blinked up at the white ceiling above her for a moment before sitting up and bringing a hand to her head. She felt a bit dizzy.

“Ah, you have finally woken,” Merida startled lightly at the thickly accented voice. She turned her head to see an older man sitting at her side with a small smile on his wrinkled face. “I am Healer Camran. I was worried we would have to delay our party’s leave. Now, can you tell me who you are, and how you came to be injured? One of our hunting party found you unconscious in the woods.”

“I am Princess Merida of Clan Dunbroch, daughter of King Fergus,” She frowned and focused her pounding head to think despite the pain. She had fought with her mother last night. The horrid taste of confinement slid across her tongue at the thought of her impending marriage and all that it held, only to be chased down with the poison of her mother’s anger and the bitter aftertaste of the ashes her bow had become. “I was running away from my betrothal and was thrown off my horse,” She admitted in a soft voice. She looked down at her hand and clenched it into a fist. She was running. _Like a coward_ , her mind hissed. _NO!_ She wasn’t a coward. She wanted her life; she was fighting for her freedom.

“Princess?” The man asked in shock.

“Yes,” She held up her necklace, an heirloom that belonged to her Father’s clan, the symbol of her royalty.

“I shall inform King Moireach and the rest of the party that you have woken, I shall be back momentarily,” He bowed his head and left quickly. Merida stared after him for a long moment before swinging her feet over the edge of the table she had been sleeping on. Her dress was in tatters, from her participation in the archery contest as well as her tumble from Angus. She couldn’t see any of the things she’d had with her in the saddlebags, but then the man hadn’t mentioned if Angus was even here. She remembered the fear she’d seen before blacking out, he might have bolted in his panicked state. Testing her balance, she slid off the edge of the table and gingerly stood, waiting for her head to stop spinning before attempting to walk the length of the table. When she felt steady and confident enough she let go of the table just in time to greet Healer Camran and his guests. She took a steadying breath and tried to remember some of her mother’s advice. She may not like the woman right now, but etiquette was the one thing Queen Elinor did best.

“Princess Merida, allow me to introduce you to King Dùghlas of Clan Moireach and two of his sons. Prince Murchadh and Prince Niallghas. Prince Murchadh was the man who found you, my Lady.”

“Greetings, My Lords,” Merida attempted her best curtsey, and succeeded fairly well, she did not keel over from dizziness at least, “I am grateful for your aid and your generosity,”

“A pleasure, my Lady,” King Dùghlas smiled warmly at her from beneath his grey beard, “My Healer tells me you are from clan Dunbroch?”

“Yes, my lord,” Merida nodded her head in agreement.

“I admit we do not receive much news from that way, how is King Fergus these days?”

“My Father is well, thank you for asking,” Merida was a bit shocked, however. She had not known there was another kingdom on this side of the border. She had passed near here so often and never met another living soul before.

“Wonderful,” The King’s smile broadened, easing the lines on his face; it made him look several years younger.

“Perhaps, Father, we should invite the young lady to the castle? We cannot send her back in this weather,” The man introduced as Prince Murchadh suggested. Merida took a moment to study him. He was taller than the others in the group. Broad shouldered with a narrow waist, and filled with muscle. His face was robust and angular, though there were several scars marking his features. His lips were thin, set above a firm chin and under a slightly bent nose. His brow was strong, shielding his sharp grey-blue eyes. Unlike the brother behind him, his hair was a dark chestnut brown, falling freely to his shoulders and framing his face.

“The weather?” Merida paused, only now hearing the soft pattering of rain on the tarpaulin of the tent.

“An excellent idea, my son,” The King glanced to Murchadh with his bright smile in place before turning back to Merida, “Please, be welcome at our castle, at least until this storm passes. You may send a letter to your father from there, and rest easy until a reply comes.”

“Thank you for your kindness, My Lord. I would be honored to accept your invitation,” Merida curtseyed again in gratitude. Riding in the rain was a dismal affair, and she was at least a day’s ride from the castle.

“And we are delighted to have you, My Lady” King Dùghlas gave a slight nod and departed from the tent.

“Princess Merida,” Murchadh stepped forward slightly with a shallow bow and holding out her cloak, “Would you care to wait with my brothers and I, while the servants finish packing away the camp?”

“Thank you, Prince Murchadh, I would,” Merida took her cloak from him, gingerly and settled the thick wool around her shoulders. When she looked up from pinning the clasp together, Murchadh had one arm extended towards her. With a small grimace she took the offered arm and followed the man out into the rain, sliding her hood up, to keep her face and hair dry. The rain immediately set upon them, weighing down the woolen cloaks with every drop of water.

Prince Murchadh led them away from the healing tent and towards the outskirts of the camp, where the horses and carts were waiting. Most of the encampment had already been packed, large empty holes left gaping between each other in what was left of the site. As Merida let her eyes wander across the groups of milling strangers, her eyes came to settle on an alleviating, familiar form.

“Angus!” Merida smiled brightly and quickened her pace, dropping Murchadh’s arm in her excitement. Her horse’s ears perked at her call and he stepped towards her in answer. Laughing in relief, Merida wrapped her arms around her friend’s large head and buried her fingers in his coat.

“Oh, I missed you! Yes I did! You great silly thing, I thought you would have bolted for sure,” Merida stroked his neck gently before reaching up to scratch behind his ears. Angus snickered at her lightly and tossed his tail before rolling his shoulders, as if to convince her of his bravery. “Of course you are,” She smiled at him softly and continued to pet him.

“Your horse is magnificent,” Merida turned to look at Murchadh’s towering form with a small smile.

“Thank you, he has been my companion for many years,”

“I am glad to have brought him then,” Murchadh gifted her with a small smile, “Would you allow me to introduce my other brothers before we depart? It should only be a few more minutes before the party is ready to leave,”

“Of course,” Merida nodded, grabbing Angus’ reigns and following Murchadh a few feet away under a large tree, where three men were huddled besides four horses. She recognized the reddish haired, stockier man from earlier, Niallghas.

“Brothers, allow me to introduce Princess Merida of clan Dunbroch. Princess, may I present my younger brothers. You have met Niallghas already; he is the second eldest. Teàrlaidh is the third,” here Murchadh motioned to the lean man of the group, who smiled charmingly from under his hood, “and the youngest, Rodaidh.” The last looked like a colt, all awkwardly proportioned long limbs and unease.

“A pleasure,” Merida fixed a smile to her face and inclined her head with a small curtsey. She managed to keep her smile from falling for most of the small talk that followed. A light bit of banter between the brothers about their hunt, as they had been competing for the best catch.

“Murchadh won, of course,” Niallghas chuckled, his deep voice ringing with mirth.

“If I had caught that stag,” Teàrlaidh began before being cut off.

“The stag would not have made up for the point difference, Teàrlaidh, and you know it. That bear was at least thirty-five stones, if not more,” Rodaidh waved his arms around, as if he could express the sheer size of the beast with his hands alone.

“You hunt bear?” Merida asked, her smile coming easier at the thought of her father’s obsession with bear hunting briefly surfaced.

“Not usually, it was a rare find,” Murchadh glanced to Merida, “I was thinking of having the pelt tanned and turned into a rug, or perhaps hang it upon a wall. Do the huntsmen of clan Dunbroch hunt bear often?”

“Sometimes. My father holds a grudge against them, so he takes them when he can,”

“A grudge?” Niallghas cocked an eyebrow in interest, “This sounds like the beginning of a good story,”

“There is a story behind it, yes,” Merida nodded lightly. It was at this moment that the small group was interrupted by one of the servants.

“My Lords and Lady,” The man bowed, “The camp is cleared and His Majesty is ready to depart,”

“Thank you, Fox,” Murchadh dismissed the man with a slight tilt of the head and made to grab his steed’s reigns. “Let us be underway then, the sooner we leave the sooner we get out of this damnable shower,”

The brothers laughed at this and Merida found herself joining in gaily. These princes were surprisingly easy to get along with.

“Would you share your story as we ride Lady Merida?” Rodaidh asked eagerly from his perilous perch in his saddle.

“If that is what you wish,” Merida agreed with a genuine smile and began to tell her father’s favorite story about how he lost his leg in the great fight with the largest brown bear to ever roam their kingdom. “The only one who got away, my father always said. And it took a bit of him with it,”

The rest of their journey was filled with the brothers’ adventurous tales. Niallghas was most prone to praise the men he was fighting with, Teàrlaidh always exaggerated his own feats, and Rodaidh was the most enthusiastic and almost fell off his horse several times. Murchadh told his stories with rich details, and Merida could almost see the battles he would describe. She was fascinated with their adventures, and even shared a few of her own, though none were as impressive as the brothers’. Climbing a cliff-face was not as thrilling as slaying bandits on the southern borders.

“Ah,” Murchadh drew Merida’s attention from the passing scenery before motioning towards the hill they were approaching, “You will get the first glimpse of Castle Moireach when we reach the crown of that hill there, it will be good to be home again,”

Merida, curious as ever, perked up in her seat and could not help the excitement she felt. When they reached the crest, her eyes drank in the sight with enthrallment.

Castle Moireach was situated at the top of a cliff face in the middle of a bay. The castle itself sat amidst a small town that trailed down the side of a low hill into the bay where more houses cluttered the shoreline. Ships lay in the harbor, green and gold banners flying in the wind, despite the rain. A thin mist stole from the water, settling against the ground like a thick winter blanket. The path up to the castle was lined with stone arches, thick slabs of granite with stories carved into their faces, each a tale of great deeds done for the castle and her king.

“It is beautiful,” Merida complimented.

“Thank you, my lady,” Murchadh’s thin lips pulled up at the corners, a hint of a smile briefly flickering past his features.

“Not as beautiful as you, my lady,” Teàrlaidh cantered up to ride level with Merida and Murchadh. Merida blinked at him with surprise, a blush stealing its way across her features.

“Thank you,” She bit out each word like they pained her, forcing herself not to grimace. By no fault of his own, Teàrlaidh strongly reminded her of the young Macintosh heir. Merida allowed herself to go back to her observations, letting the brothers pick up their own conversations. Moireach was a beautiful castle, and ancient, though well kept. The architecture was older than that of Castle Dunbroch, and her families castle had been around for near three generations, having been built under her grandfather’s Lordship before Fergus had been crowned King over those lands.

The stories on the archways looked fascinating as well. Merida glanced over to Murchadh, wondering if he would not mind telling them to her sometime. She would love to hear them all, and his attention to detail in his own stories would hopefully carry over to the tales as well.

 

The heavy rain subdued the hunting party’s arrival in the castle’s courtyard. The members of the party were weary from the journey and the weather, the castle servants were leery of getting wet at all and stuck to the alcoves and sheltered walkways when they could.

“It is almost like the clouds know we are about to dry off and plan to soak us through,” Rodaidh grumbled as he dismounted. His balance faltered and he slipped from the stir-ups to land roughly in the mud. Merida smiled with a slight laugh as Niallghas and Teàrlaidh crumbled in amusement.

“What are we going to do with you,” Murchadh shook his head with a heavy sigh.

“Help me up?” Rodaidh asked pitifully from his grimy seat. Niallghas snatched him by the shoulder and pulled him to his feet as Merida dismounted; her feet light in the stir-up, and not a hair out of order. A stable hand approached for Angus’ reigns and Merida gently handed them over.

“His name is Angus, and if he gives you any trouble you can call for me,” Merida pulled off her own saddlebags, which contained the only things she had with her. In reply, Angus whickered and swatted her with her tail. Merida snickered as she ducked into one of the walkways and out of the rain.

“Princess Merida, if you would come this way?” The manservant who beckoned was somewhat familiar, and finally she placed him. This was Fox, the man who had informed them of the hunting party’s departure. The man was not that much older than her, perhaps twenty years or so. He was well built, with rounded shoulders and a trim waist, tall but not enough to tower over her like Murchadh. His hair was cropped short, and stuck to his head with the rain. The water darkened it, but if Merida had to guess, she would bet it was a sort of golden blonde when dry and shining in the sun.

Fox led her into the castle, and through several halls, sharing a few histories of the castle as they went. Merida was eager to listen. Until they reached an open door where steam came tumbling out like dragon’s breath.

“Mistress Beathag,” Fox called through the haze.

“Fox! You villain, how dare you show your face after what you did! Three tubs! Three whole tubs of laundry, ruined! All your doing, you no-good scoundrel!” A shrill voice belted through the mist before the steam parted to reveal a plump woman with a soft face, though the features were contorted in rage. Her apron was bunched up to one side and hooked through her belt, sleeves rolled up past her elbows and a towel hung over one shoulder. Merida blinked in surprise, the woman reminded her of a fiercer version of Maudie.

“Ah, yes, um,” Fox stammered before remembering why he was here and darting behind Merida. “Beathag, darling wonderful lady of mine heart, Princess Merida is in need of clothing,”

The woman paused in her single-minded stalking to finally look at Merida.

“Oh, you poor dear!” Beathag exclaimed, her hands fluttering towards Merida before clasping her arms and steering her into the steaming room. “We’ll get you dried off in a tick and then dressed in something nicer. We still have a few of Queen Caena’s old dresses from when she was younger. I will have one of the girls pull them out while we get you ready. Do you want us to patch this up for you?”

Merida looked down at her dress, it was ripped and torn, and she would probably never wear it again. Not that it was in much of a state to wear at all.

“If you could, I am sure my mother would appreciate it,” Merida sighed. Elinor would have preferred the dress to never touch grass at all, but Merida just wasn’t meant to be a ‘proper’ princess.

“Of course, dear,” Beathag smiled sweetly before turning her around to get at the back laces.

The next ten minutes was worse than the dressing her mother had put her through just days ago. The laundry girls giggled and complimented her as Beathag helped her in and out of a handful of dresses that fit fairly well, though not as good as her own clothing.

“That’s easily fixed with a bit of thread, dear,” Beathag smiled and set the pile of dresses in a wicker basket off to the side. They finally settled on a simple emerald green dress that needed the least amount of pinning to make it fit properly. The rich brocade was finely embroidered with a slightly darker thread. The dress itself was trimmed with a band of simple golden embroidery work. After that, she was laced up and handed a pair of comfortable soft shoes to hold her over until the cobbler finished a pair of shoes for her. And with that, Merida was thrust back into the hallway. She blinked back into the mist of the laundry room and shuddered. Laundry women were crazy. Luckily, she didn’t have too long a wait for an indication as to where to go.

A moment after she was returned to the hall, Fox came around the corner, a broad smile on his thin face.

“All finished then, Princess?” Fox inquired, his blue eyes squinting at the force of his smile.

“Yes, thank you, Fox,” Merida couldn’t help but to return the smile; the man was easy to like and reminded her a bit of her younger brothers.

“And may I be so bold as to say, you look lovely,” Fox bowed with a flourish and a wink, clearly good-humored.

“Thank you, villain,” Merida stuck out her tongue and received a chuckle for her efforts.

“Ah, you wound me so,” Fox stood and shook his head, “Now that you are presentable again, shall we make for the Throne room? Lady Caena will be delighted to meet you,”

“Lead the way, then, Fox,” Merida motioned and followed when he did just that.

The throne room was magnificently decorated, was the first thought that crept past Merida’s mind when she entered the room. The large room was full of rich tapestries along the walls, each scene bordered by smaller scenes, more tales Merida hoped to hear. The room was also full of columns, the pillars stretching skyward to the ceiling with carvings all the way up. People milled through the room, servants with work and guests idling for news and gossip. Every few feet were braziers of candles all ablaze for both light and a bit of heat. Above the room hung several chandeliers, the candles thick and bright. Skylights let out the smoke, and on sunny days, Merida could almost imagine the golden sun pouring through the openings. At the head of the room were six richly furnished chairs. The largest sat in the middle; a burnished dark wood with plush green cushions and beautifully carved. To the immediate right was a slightly smaller chair of light beech wood; golden cushions set on the seat, and lightly carved with vines and flowers. The last four were arranged with two on each side of these, all the same size. These four were made of a dark cherry wood; adorned with small carvings and green cushions with little golden accents.

“Ah, here she is,” Merida startled slightly at the voice and turned towards the speaker.

“King Dùghlas,” Merida curtseyed and bowed her head.

“Princess Merida, allow me to introduce to you, my wife, Lady Caena,” King Dùghlas swept his hand to the side and Merida followed the motion to come face to face with a small, yet beautiful woman, “Dearest, this is Princess Merida of clan Dunbroch,”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady,” Merida curtseyed again.

“Please, just Caena is fine,” Lady Caena smiled gently at her. Her face was lightly lined with age, and a brush of grey swept through her auburn-brown lochs, but neither of these could detract from her beauty. She carried herself with an elegant grace and a royal air, which settled on her thin shoulders like an ornament. Her green eyes sparkled with good-humor and gentleness, offsetting the harsh line of her brow and nose. Full lips settled into an open smile above a slender chin, all amity and liberality.

“Then please, call me Merida,” Merida returned her honest smile with one of her own.

“Merida,” Caena’s smile got impossibly brighter, “I have had the servants prepare a room for your stay here with us. If there is anything you need, just let the servants know,”

“I will need to write a letter to my father,” Merida admitted, having actually forgotten about it until this moment. Hopefully nothing horrid happened during her absence.

“Of course! When you have finished your missive, just hand it to one of the servants. They will get one of the couriers to take it for you,”

“Thank you, Lady Caena,” Merida bowed her head in appreciation.

“Well, now that that is settled, shall we move on to the dining room? The chefs have been busy all afternoon preparing a feast for the hunting party’s return this evening. We should not put it off longer, or the cooks will start revolting, I think,” Lady Caena giggled quietly to herself and took Merida’s arm in hers.

The feast was exquisite. The last of the fresh summer fruit was presented with an assortment of vegetables, including wild mushrooms in light vinaigrette the cooks had thrown together. Stuffed meats, pastries of all kinds, glazed breads and honeyed tarts. Merida ate her fill and washed it down with a small mug of water, though the cooks had presented several ciders, ales and juices to choose from. The heat of the room and the warmth of her full stomach sank into her bones and eased the small knots that had formed from her fall and the long ride to the castle. By the time Fox has pulled her from the room, to guide her to her chambers, Merida had been lulled into a half doze in her seat. She did manage to follow Fox without bumping into the walls and archways on their journey to her room.

As soon as Fox left, Merida shut the door with a soft thud and slid out of her dress. She banked the fire to keep the room warm, without sweltering, and then slipped into the covers of her bed. She was asleep mere moments after her eyes closed.

 

* * *

 

 

Merida woke to the soft glare of golden sun creeping through her shuttered window. With a slight moan she rolled back into the warmth of her covers. It was her third day at castle Moireach. She had sent a letter out with a messenger and her necklace the morning after her arrival at Moireach. After her letter had been sent, Lady Caena had given one of her lady’s maids the task of helping Merida. Sìleas was a sweet, older woman with a kind face and wispy grey hair that she held back in a small, jeweled clasp. But, behind her sweet, old-lady smile she was an evil demon.

Sìleas had dragged her towards every sort of needlework in the castle. Embroidery, sewing, knitting, weaving, normal dainty girly things and, yes, Merida could do them (some better than others) but not today. The rain had finally let up and then stopped completely last evening and she longed to be outside.

Groaning, Merida got up and left the warm comfort of her bed for a quick wash. Beathag had delivered the rest of her borrowed clothing yesterday; therefore Merida chose one of the fresh dresses. The simplest, a thin, soft doeskin brown dress with an under dress of pale green that peeked through at the elbows.

As quietly as possible she opened her door and stuck her head into the hall, looking for any sign of Sìleas. The empty hall greeted her caution, and with a smile Merida scampered out of her room and down the hall towards the stairs and freedom. She ran in to several guards and servants on her way out of the castle, greeting each with a cheerful good morning. Until finally she was out in the cool morning air, the breeze running chilled fingers through her curls. With a skip in her step she turned towards the stables to say good morning to Angus.

Her Clydesdale was munching on breakfast when she came in, though he looked up briefly to breath on her in greeting. She stroked his snout for a moment before continuing on her way. Finally, she ended up in the armory. Two guards were lounging lazily in the main room when she entered; neither paid any attention to her until she cleared her throat.

“How may we help you, miss?” One of the guards asks, having scrambled out of his seat to appear more attentive.

“I was hoping to borrow a bow and set of arrows, perhaps. I wish to practice my archery,”

“Of course, we have several if you would care to choose,”

“Thank you,” Merida smiled at him and went through the archway and into the general armory where the standard guard and militia weapons were stored. She hummed to herself as she examined each bow, until she found one with a similar weight and balance to her old one. A brief flash of rage boiled through her veins at the thought of her missing bow. She quickly shoved it down. No amount of anger or grief was going to fix her bow; it wasn’t worth dwelling on now. After selecting a set of arrows and a quiver to practice with, she left the armory and set towards the practice range the guards had pointed her towards.

Sìleas found her there several hours later with a group of archers. Merida was in the middle of helping one young man with his aim, a simple habit of flinching after loosing the arrow caused his shots to fly oddly, when Sìleas snatched her by the ear and pulled her away from the field.

“Ow!” Merida hissed, finally managing to slip out of the demon’s hold.

“Do you have any idea how worried I was this morning?” Sìleas demanded, her stocky build shivering with irritation, “I spent hours running around the castle looking for you when I saw your bed was empty. The only reason I found you at all was due to one of those beastly men exclaiming about some woman with amazing talent with the bow!”

“I am…sorry?” Merida hesitated, had something happened? “I did not know you were looking for me, I just wanted to practice out here instead of stitching all day again,”

“Oh, dearie,” Sìleas sighed with a put-upon frown, “You are not in trouble for practicing. I had no idea where you were, and we do get spies and raiders in these parts still. I had thought you might be in danger,”

“Oh,” Merida blinked in surprise. She had never thought about that before. The lands around Dunbroch were fairly tame; there had not been bandits or outlaws in at least a decade. It had never been an issue before now. Merida flushed with shame. Sìleas had been worried for her, probably terrified, all because Merida had snuck out to practice archery. “I am so ashamed. Dunbroch has no such problems, the thought had not even crossed my mind that there could be danger here.”

“Well, I am glad you are fine,” Sìleas looked a bit shocked at the news of Dunbroch’s prosperity. “If you had wanted to practice, you should have told me. I do not mind sitting around while you exert yourself at your hobbies,”

“Thank you, Sìleas,” Merida sighed, the woman’s replying smile quickly caught on. Sìleas allowed Merida to continue with her practice and occasional lessons until the midday meal. Afterwards Sìleas bid her to something less exhausting.

After a moment of thought, Merida set out to find Murchadh. If he was not otherwise occupied, she would ask about the tales on the tapestries, and perhaps when those were finished, the ones on the columns. Merida found Murchadh with a minimal amount of trouble, as he was lounging in a small study. He was bent over several documents, a quill in one large hand, ink stained across several fingers and brow knit in concentration. Merida lingered patiently until he made a throaty humming sound and scratched away at his parchment, when he was done with that section, she cleared her throat and stepped further into the room. Only to freeze when those piercing stormy eyes caught hers. His face smoothed out of the intense focus he had previously been in, and the light smile that crossed his mouth eased the stiffness from her figure.

“Lady Merida,” Murchadh nodded in greeting.

“Good afternoon, Lord Murchadh,” Merida curtseyed slightly, “I hope I am not interrupting anything of great import,”

“Not at all, simple correspondence with several of my associates and a few accounts I am attempting to set to rights. Was there something you needed of me?”

“I was wondering if you might indulge my curiosity, actually.” Merida smiled, “I am very interested in the tapestries in the throne room, and was curious about their tales. Would you be able to tell them, or is there another I could seek out to hear them?”

“I would be happy to indulge you, Lady Merida,” Murchadh gives her one of his small little smiles and sets his quill down, capping his inkbottle before standing.

“Just Merida, is fine,” She smiles as he steps past her towards the door and follows him down the hall.

“Then, please, call me Murchadh,” The man glances back at her with an assenting nod.

“Of course,” She bounces forward to keep pace. They end up spending several hours in the Throne room, moving from tapestry to tapestry. Merida is fascinated by the stories, and asks questions after Murchadh finishes each one. Each question seems to make Murchadh a bit more cordial. Other guests seeking to speak with Murchadh about business, or assistance interrupt them only a few times during the afternoon.

When this happens Murchadh deals with the interloper as politely quick as possible, though Merida does not mind the interruption. She studies the tapestries with an eye for details. She picks up all the subtle hints, small things that mean nothing to the actual scene itself but are included to remind the viewer of pieces of the story. A goblet filled with gems, a rose with a dagger-shaped stem, pebbles with crosses on them strewn along the beach; subtle reminders of trials in each story that Murchadh has shown her to look for in the tapestries.

When Sìleas forbids her from practicing the next afternoon as well, Merida seeks him out again, and they spend the following day in the same way. It becomes a pattern for the next week, until Murchadh is unexpectedly busy.

“Prince Murchadh sends his apologies, Lady Merida,” Fox stands when she enters the familiar study she has beginning to label as Murchadh’s, “The King is having him oversee the Autumn Tournament construction,”

“Autumn Tournament?” Merida ticks an eyebrow in interest.

“Yes, the tournament is why many of the King’s allies are visiting. It is a showing of strength for the Lords and a way for some to earn favor with the King and his sons,” Fox explains.

“Is there an archery competition?”

“There is,” Fox begins slowly, having seen Merida’s accomplishments with a bow “Are you interested in participating?”

“Is that allowed?”

“Of course, you are a guest of the King, and a Princess. You hold more authority than most of the Lord’s in attendance,” Merida hummed thoughtfully.

“So when is the tournament?”

“It’s set to begin this Thursday, my lady,”

“Wonderful, is there any sort of listing I need to apply to?”

“Yes, Lady Merida, but I can add your name to the roster, if you like,” Fox smiled at her with mischief in his eyes.

“Thank you, Fox, I would appreciate that,” Merida returned the smile and left the study. With Murchadh busy for the next few days at least, she needed to find herself a new pastime. Eventually, she found herself sitting in front of a medium sized loom, working on a tapestry to illustrate her father’s favorite story; adding in a small piece of her own perspective, her first experience with a bow, and her encounter with the wisps.

The days seem to slow; the closer it gets to Thursday. Merida taps her shoes against her chair while she weaves, humming under her breath as she sets up the beginning of her tapestry. This is a skill she has learned from her mother, though the impatient twitching is all her own. Elinor would never do something a frivolous as spasm, or probably get impatient in the first place.

 

* * *

 

 

“I have informed Princess Merida of the tournament, my lord,” Fox sweeps into Murchadh’s bedchamber with a grin on his face and a bounce in his step.

“Good,” Murchadh looks up from the paperwork on his secondary desk with a smirk, “Thank you for that little tidbit of information on her archery prowess, I have not been out to the yard in the late mornings and she’s yet to mention it in our conversations,”

“Only the best information for my liege,” Fox grins and settles into the only other chair in the room. “She was thrilled with the initial announcement of course, but when I asked if she wished to participate, she actually hesitated. I get the feeling she has either never competed, which would be blaspheme, surely, so her first or last experience with competition did not turn out so well,”

“You do have a way with people,” Murchadh absently shakes his head and writes something down on his notes. “I will endeavor to ask after her contest history after the tournament ends, hopefully it will bring in some new information. We do not seem to have much in the way of information from Dunbroch, a handful of paper scraps with little notes of bears and fields, and not much else. Most of my information has been taken from Lady Merida’s anecdotes and inferences. I have no solid information and it is beginning to drive me mad.”

“That is why I sent Aodhan with the message. He is more likely to keep his eyes open for little things and report them all back to me than my other contacts in the field,”

“Good, we need this. Lady Merida speaks about her home with pride, and the kingdom her father rules seems prosperous and fairly strong. If we can keep her happy, we are more likely to gain Dunbroch as an ally. Which we need.”

“We do?” Fox perked up, this was news.

“Lord Bremner is moving again, in ways I do not like. He’s fishing for something amongst the other lords. It unfailingly reminds me of that winter skirmish three years ago,” Fox’s eyes flicker down to the scar adorning Murchadh’s jaw, the slight indent where a piece of muscle used to rest. That skirmish had nearly ended Murchadh’s life, not from the wound but from the intended beheading.

“You are planning then,” Fox’s eyes narrowed with acute interest, “And you think Dunbroch might be the answer?”

“I think that making allies of Dunbroch could save us a lot of trouble,” Murchadh returned with a lightly scathing look. Fox held up his hands in surrender.

“I will keep an eye on Lady Merida, then, and make sure she is returned to Dunbroch with nothing but praise for Moireach,” Fox stood and made for the door, turning only to make sure Murchadh did not need him for anything else.

“That is exactly what I need you to do,” Murchadh nodded once and returned to his papers as Fox left.

 

* * *

 

 

Thursday dawns bright, and Merida leaps out of bed with anxious relief. She whirls around her room like a living piece of lightning. Her fingers shake with such anticipation that she can barely lace her dress up, and almost has to call for Sìleas. She does not settle down until her feet are in the grass and her bow is placed in her hands. And it is like settling into deep rock, it is so grounding that she can finally think straight, for the first time since she set her bow down the day before.

She takes a breath and settles, lifting her bow for her first practice shot of the morning. She has to force herself to move her aim just enough to keep each arrow intact. She has already split a dozen arrows this week, and shaved the fletching off of nearly thrice that number. This morning she does not draw a crowd for her practice, it is a first. But she does not mind. Everyone is busy with the beginnings of the tournament, swordplay and jousting will be the biggest events, and cable-toss will be almost as crowded. The archery competition begins after the midday meal, and Merida takes the intervening hours to practice a bit more and then composes herself.

She eats lightly at the meal, joining a brief conversation with one of the ladies she has been weaving with in the past few days. Afterwards she heads down to the archery field. Her steps are measured, as she centers herself, breathing slowly. Fox meets her with a ready smile on his lips, golden hair flashing between the cool sunlight and the shade.

“You are one of the first to shoot, Lady Merida,” Fox leads her to her target, the third in a row of eight. With a brief but heart-felt ‘good luck’, Fox nods and trots back into the crowd.

The other seven archers take their places when they are called up, and the rules are read. Merida focuses on her target. They get three shots; the winner of this group will compete against the seven other winners from the other groups to determine the champion. The judge calls for the first round.

Merida notches her arrow and raises her bow. Her fingers curl softly around the bowstring, the supple wood bends as she pulls. The shaft of the arrow slides across her finger, like a whisper. She kisses the string and pulls a bit further back, eyes focused down the shaft and through the bull’s eye. She inhales, her lungs filling with the cool air, and exhales, letting her lungs empty and then she holds. And lets go. She repeats the process twice more, each arrow hitting just slightly next to each other. When she lets her focused mindset fall, the judges identify her target as the winner for the round, and Fox congratulates her with a knowing smile.

She does not watch the next competitors. She does not want to compare herself to the other contestants. She remains in her mostly calm state while talking with Fox, until the winners are all called back for the final round.

The targets are double the original distance now, but she is all right with that. She takes her place at target five this time, and grounds herself again. The judges have added two arrows to the grouping. Merida breathes softly as she falls back into her routine. Arms raised, eyes focused, fingers loose but strong. She lets her arrows fly with the confidence she can only find behind her bow. The ease she has before a target feels like breathing to her.

When the round is finally called, Merida comes back to herself with an accomplished grin. She has set her arrows exactly like her first three shots in round one, and stacked her additional two shots on the center arrow. Two split arrows and five bull’s eyes.

The next four days of the tournament are only of mild interest to Merida, though she does go to several events to support Fox and Murchadh. Fox competes in one of the races held on the second day, and though he is one of the fastest runners Merida has ever seen, he loses the finals by just a few seconds. Merida praises him anyway, for his quick footwork. Murchadh competes in both the sword duels and the axe throwing. He wins both, though Merida cannot find him to congratulate him herself.

On the evening of the last day the winners of every competition are called to accept their prizes, none of the archery crowd is surprised to hear Merida’s name. And she steps forward with the brightest smile she has worn since her mother mentioned betrothal. The prize is an excellently crafted dagger; the hilt is wrapped in soft kit-leather, the pommel is set with a small but handsome emerald, and the steel of the blade is tempered beautifully.

“What will you do with it?” Fox asks when she steps back into the crowd and joins him again.

“I am not sure, my father taught me to work with a blade, but I’ve never held a dagger” Merida replies, her thoughts linger on the opportunity, however. Now that she has thought of it, she would like to learn more. Close range weaponry was a useful skill to have, if only to set Sìleas’ mind at ease from thoughts of brigands snatching her from the castle.

The feast that evening is enthusiastic and raucous. The minstrels are nearly drowned out by the voices of the guests, jokes are bawdy, and the food is the finest Merida has tasted yet. And the main course is the bear Murchadh slew on their recent hunt. When Merida asks, the cook tells her that not even half the bear was eaten that night, though everyone took at least one piece and the sauces it was served with only enhanced the flavor of the dish. Merida eats enough to fill her stomach after the light food she has had all day, and even allows herself a small mug of warm apple cider. She finds the sweet flavor a wonderful offset to the richly flavored cheese tart she selects for her desert.

After the feast there is dancing. The servants move the tables against the walls to clear an opening for the dances. Merida watches from the side until the wheels they are dancing become familiar to her, and then she leaps in head first. She lets the drums become her heartbeat, and the lute dictate her feet. She stomps and claps and spins, her loose hair whipping around her like a brilliant ginger flag. The music carries her through several dances until her muscles burn with the exercise and she is forced to exit the wheel. She grabs a mug of water and sips it through two songs until her legs stop trembling and her breath is normal. She leaves the hall in high spirits with a satisfied grin sitting on her lips, and retires to her room for the evening. Out of habit, she settles her bow and quiver in the corner of her room before undressing and slipping under the covers. The music lingers sweetly in her ears as she drifts softly into dreams.

Merida never learns of the gazes that idled when she joined the dancers. Of the men who subtly ask after her, or the fierce glares they receive in answer. The two lord-lings who make the mistake of asking Fox, receive only cold blue eyes that narrow threateningly and chilling silence.

 

* * *

 

 

“She seems to be happy, my lord,” Fox settled into one of the chairs in Murchadh’s study with a quiet relief, his shoulders slumping in exhaustion.

“That is good news, if we can establish good relations with Dunbroch, we might have enough support to keep Lord Bremner from starting a war,” Murchadh leant back into his wingchair, jaw clenched in irritation, “Father’s health is beginning to fail, if a war starts now he will not be fit to end it. And I do not exactly envy the thought of fighting a full out battle, yet.”

“It helps that she is a Princess,” Fox nodded with a roughish grin sliding across his face, “She will be obliged to return some form of favor for your hospitality. Which was good thinking on your part,”

“That was mostly luck,” Murchadh acknowledged with a rueful smirk, “But I am very good at thinking on my feet.”

“Has there been a reply form Dunbroch yet? I would have thought the trip to be fairly short, considering her saddle bags were practically empty,”

“I am more concerned with the messenger being lost, rather than the length of the trip. We have never sent anything to the other end of the forest, and I am beginning to question why. It is odd that we have never secured that end of the border, something I shall rectify after this whole blasted affair is over,”

“A pity she is not a bit older, though,” Fox grinned, “Forming a stronger alliance through marriage and the possibility of expanding the kingdom… ah, well, it can not all be simple.”

“An interesting notion,” Murchadh exhaled with a light laugh, “Though something tells me she would try to fight any form of political arrangement. That is how she ended up with us in the first place, if I recall correctly.”

“Oh, she shared that story, did she?”

“Yes, I do not think she has had anyone of equal status to speak with before, and our afternoons together generally center on stories. Suffice to say, she is not willing to let her mother make arrangements for her. At least, not now.”

“Pity,” Fox sighed, his eyes glazing over lightly “She would look lovely under a crown,”

Murchadh snorted and shook his head.

“Keep those thoughts out of my study. We need to go over the noble’s meeting from last night as well as the plans for the next month.”

“Are you certain? She looked very fetching this evening, some of the lords’ sons noticed as well,” Fox glanced at Murchadh slyly, though he did get up to gather their notes from the meeting and spare parchment for more planning.

“Just keep them off of her, she is not interested in being some lord-ling’s bed warmer and I do not want her time in Moireach to be dampened by some bastard’s idea of courtship. I will not see all my hard work undone by some cock-led child,” Murchadh shook his head and pulled one of the side tables between their two chairs. Fox settled back into his seat after snatching a set of quills and the inkbottle.

“Now, Lord Kinley was discussing the raiders that are moving up the coast,” Murchadh began.

The oil lamp and the fire in Murchadh’s study blazed nearly until dawn before both men were satisfied with the outcome of their planning. Neither worried about running into early risers as they left the seclusion for their beds and necessary sleep, the night’s activities had been planned to see most of the castle guests, and even the staff, asleep this morning.

 

* * *

 

 

Nearly twenty leagues away, a messenger finally stumbles into a clearing ringed in stone, and a path on the other side that is supposed to reach castle Dunbroch. Aodhan, the messenger, sighs heavily in relief. He has been stumbling through the undergrowth of this wood like a blind child. His steed is skittish as they cross through the clearing, and everything is eerily quiet. Brushing it off, Aodhan clicks his heels lightly, and speeds into a trot. With any luck he will find Dunbroch before nightfall and sleep in a bed for the first time in three weeks.

‘Next time,’ he thinks with slight irritation, ‘I am going to hand this route over to one of the new messengers. I am not traipsing through this damn forest again.’ Aodhan paused as a sudden thought crossed his mind and then shuddered with a grimace, ‘Unless Fox orders me too.’

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A letter arrives, Fox has the hugest crush ever, some bandits attack, there is a ghostly encounter and Merida gets a lot of good advice.

_ Chapter 2 _

 

Queen Elinor of clan Dunbroch sits before her tapestry, the subtle lines of age deepened by the strength of her distress. Her fingers trace over the freshest stitches, pausing briefly when they pass over the clasped hands. A soft sigh shudders past her lips, shoulders briefly falling in grief. Her only daughter has been missing for three weeks, and she has only herself to blame. The search parties her husband sent out to find their missing princess have only returned with empty hands and no news. Her rich brown eyes close, guilt weighing upon her brow like a barbed crown. The silence that fills her room echoes with the words of their fight.

Elinor wants to say that she understands why Merida left that night. She wants to say that she understands the fear she saw flicker behind Merida’s anger. But she cannot. She has never truly understood, and the weight of every conversation they have never had is heavy indeed. Every day that has passed with no news, no hope, feels like years to Elinor. She has tried to keep Merida from the world, to keep that spark of joy alive under Merida’s bold exterior. Now she fears, waiting in the background with terror slowly picking apart her sanity. Merida knows so little about the world, due in part to her own stubborn streak and Elinor’s carelessness. Elinor has never thought to worry about the possibilities, not with the peace that has settled over the kingdom’s land. But there is so much danger to face for a girl of just sixteen.

She tries not to dwell on the prospects that confirm her deepest fears. Merida had no weapon with her, Elinor had impulsively seen to that. Her russet eyes flicker to the lightly charred bow that rests on her mantle. Shame settles on her chest at the burns that mar the once beautiful weapon, she may not understand Merida’s reaction but she does understand the irrational anger that filled her that night. Elinor had been terrified and embarrassed. She had hoped Merida would behave, that she would understand the importance that her marriage would have on Dunbroch and their allies. When Merida had defied her, all she had seen was Merida’s pride getting the best of her. The thought of Merida showing off to insult their allies when the land was still so uncertain, their treaties still shaky and unsettled, Elinor had been furious.

She had thought, in her ignorance, that Merida’s pride would lead their kingdom to ruin. The clans so slighted they would renounce the treaties and there would be another war. Elinor had looked at Merida and seen a child, and been blind to the girl’s own fears. None of this excused her actions against her daughter they were only an explanation.

“My Lady,” Maudie rushed into the room, panting in her haste, “The last of the search parties has returned! And they bring a messenger, he says he has seen the Princess!”

Elinor is up and out the door before Maudie could get another word in; a bit of hope for her daughter’s safety, sparking in her chest like embers. She hurried through the halls as fast as she dared, pausing only to compose herself before entering the throne room. Fergus was already pacing on the raised platform, one hand scratching along his rugged jaw.

“Elinor!” Fergus paused to smile half-heartedly at his wife. He had been less enthusiastic since Merida’s flight from Dunbroch.

“Maudie told me there was news,” Elinor allowed herself to hurry forward, anxiety welling in her stomach.

“Oh, Aye,” Fergus nodded, “A messenger from clan Moireach”

Elinor blinked, stunned by the unfamiliar name. If it had taken three weeks to get a message Merida must have traveled fairly far in her eagerness to flee Dunbroch.

“What did he say?” Elinor prompted.

“He handed me these,” Fergus held up a letter and the necklace Merida had been wearing the night she fled, “and preceded to explain that Merida is a guest of their King at castle Moireach,”

Elinor took the letter from Fergus with shaking fingers and began to read. The message was simple, though detailed, explaining Merida’s current lodging and her hesitance to return home after such a poor departure. Elinor’s eyes blurred at the hint of anger that slanted the words until the end where it tapered off into reluctant disappointment. There was a simple apology included, for the tapestry and her hasty disappearance. Elinor slid into her chair and gripped the letter in her hands, thumbs brushing over her daughter’s familiar scrawl with painful relief.

“What of the messenger?” Elinor finally looked back to Fergus.

“I have put him up in a room for a few days and asked him to deliver a reply when he and his horse are recovered,” Fergus sat heavily in his throne, a gusty sigh bellowing from his lungs.

“I shall go write a letter then,” Elinor stood, “I am anxious for Merida to return to us,”

“As am I,” Fergus smiled a bit easier, before seeming to remember something and grimacing, “What am I going to tell the clan Lords?”

“That Merida shall return within the month and we will discuss the proposed marriage at that time and not a moment sooner. I think Merida deserves the chance to defend her actions, however much I was displeased with them at the time,” Elinor nodded with finality and left the room to begin her letter. She had so much she needed to tell Merida, and only so much could be properly communicated in a letter.

 

* * *

 

Aodhan sunk into the soft down comforters with a relieved sigh. After three terrible weeks wandering through the gods forsaken woods he had finally found castle Dunbroch. He had been a bit leery when a full company of men had come at him asking for any news about Princess Merida, though they had been quick to get him to the castle after he explained his reasons for being there. King Fergus was a bear of a man, though his friendly nature made it much easier for Aodhan to convey the princess’ message and the greetings from King Dùghlas and Prince Murchadh.

Aodhan shuddered lightly at the memory of Dunbroch’s throne room. The large displayed bears, the mounted bear heads, and the bearskin rugs, it was a collection of prowess Aodhan had never seen the likes of before. According to the servants’ gossip he had listened to on the way up to his guest rooms, King Fergus was an avid bear hunter. Though if the story were to be believed he had ample reason to be.

Fox had sent him here for a reason, then. That had to be the case. Aodhan sighed heavily and let his body relax into the mattress. Fox always had a reason to send Aodhan on errands, he just had to figure out what Fox wanted. Aodhan’s eyes slid shut as he let his mind process the events that had led him to Dunbroch. Other messengers were faster, so it could not have been speed, especially since it had taken three weeks to find this blasted kingdom. Aodhan was the most diplomatic of the messenger corp. Though neither the King nor Prince Murchadh had given him orders of that sort, Moireach knew almost nothing of clan Dunbroch or their politics.

Aodhan’s eyes snapped open. _Ah_. That was it. Fox was using him to scout Dunbroch. He was the bearer of the olive branch for a possible alliance. Fox would want information when Aodhan returned to Moireach. He would need to speak with the servants and possibly the King and Queen themselves to ask after their politics and thoughts towards alliance without making it look suspicious or convenient to be housing their daughter.

This needed to be handled very delicately. If he failed, it could cause a disaster.

His stay in the castle was eye opening, to say the least. True artisans and craft masters had built Castle Dunbroch. The stonework was magnificent, the tapestries were rich, even the simple things were well made. Wells had cranks to lift buckets full of water, a small ‘lift’ that could pull items from floor to floor by turning a lever, and the windows were all covered in glass. Things that Aodhan saw so rarely seemed to be so commonplace here. It was a good thing he had been sent, too. Other would gawk and stare, and generally give a poor impression of Moireach. Aodhan observed with a casual air and kept his thoughts and feelings to himself, and easily hid his astonishment. To the inhabitants of Moireach it was as if he had simply stepped into another version of his home castle, completely at ease in their familiar environment. No one guessed how out of place he truly felt.

He made sure to keep very detailed notes of his observations, and even a few sketches of the architecture and the lands to bring back to Moireach. These were things that Fox and Prince Murchadh would find useful, no doubt. And, like all things the Prince wanted, they were as thorough as Aodhan could possibly make them. Now it was just a matter of getting back to Moireach as quickly as possible with the Queen’s response and the tightly wrapped gift they had handed him for delivery to the Princess’ host.

 

* * *

 

 Moireach was bustling when Merida ventured out of her rooms the next afternoon. She had slept through the morning meal, and possibly lunch. The servants were all busy loading up the guest’s belongings and packing provisions for their journeys. Merida snuck into the kitchens, sticking to the walls and keeping out of the way of the traffic. She snatched a few cuts of meat and cheese, a slab of bread and a crisp apple before ducking out the back door and heading out to the stables to visit with Angus.

Outside the castle proper was almost as busy as inside. Boxes were being loaded onto wagons and tied down under sheets of tarpaulin to keep most of the elements out of the Lord’s goods. Some of the wagons were already hitched up to stocky horses, ready for their Lord’s departure. A few were making their way down the streets towards the harbor to be unloaded and then stored away on a few of the ships there. Merida glanced over the smooth practice, admiring the work that went into such a large process. She had not been privy to the work put into the tournament for her engagement back at Dunbroch. The usual bitterness that filled her mouth at the thought of her betrothal was milder in this instance, diminished with time.

As she walked across the yard towards the stables, Merida picked at the food she had pilfered from the kitchens. It was a lovely day for travel. The sparsely clouded sky was an inviting azure swath; a welcome breeze was cooling the sun’s faint heat.

_This,_ Merida thought, _would be a beautiful day for a ride around the lands of Moireach._

 

Sionn “Fox” of Moireach was both pleased and disconcerted at the late hours he was keeping for the day. His sleeping pattern being disturbed by the monthly planning seminars with Prince Murchadh was nothing new. They had scheduled these meetings since their teens, sneaking around the castle in their nightclothes and listening in to the Lord’s assembly with King Dùghlas. As a general rule, Prince Murchadh kept himself aware of the Lord’s plans and problems. The genial mask he acquired in company slipped away completely when they were alone, and rarely made an appearance behind closed doors. The Prince quite rightly saw snakes in every Lord; all men can change their morals for the right price, after all. No, the meeting was not the reason for the chill of unease that wrapped itself like cloth across his shoulders. It was the task he had been set to nearly four weeks prior. The Princess of Dunbroch. Watching over her had been easy so far, which was wonderful for Fox, and upsetting.

Princess Merida seemed the sort of young lady who enjoyed the wilds and open lands, the feel of wind against her face and the fire of passion in her blood. She was open and easy with others, a cover for the unbridled energy crackling like lightning under her skin. Fox knew, with the certainty every man feels for the continued rise of dawn, that young Merida would not stay content to be holed away inside the castle walls for much longer. No, the Princess was a lady who valued her freedom, her independence. She was a Scotswoman, fierce and wild and bold; free as the seas and the storms.

It was only a matter of time before she felt the itching in her veins for the freedom of the wild and the wind.

Fox had woken near midday and set upon his task. It was simple enough to find Sìleas and see that she was not with the Princess, and even simpler to wander by the rooms Merida was using. She was not there either. It took several tries to find a servant that had seen the young Princess, a scullery maid who only chanced to see Lady Merida as she was bringing in the ingredients cook needed for supper and caught the Lady snitching bits of food for a quick luncheon. Fox grinned at the young woman charmingly and thanked her for her help before scouring the grounds near bye for the Princess. He caught her at just the right angle to see the spark of longing ignite behind her sky-blue gaze.

The shiver of unease snaked down his spine again. Distantly he heard Prince Murchadh mutter about the pirates prowling along their coasts from their meeting the night before. An armed escort, usually only necessary during official sorts of business, but a precaution Fox was going to insist upon. Visiting nobles usually brought their own guards or did without, but Prince Murchadh was hoping to form an alliance with the Princess’ father, having her come to harm under their care would be a disaster. Especially now, with no word from their messenger as the days passed.

“My Lady!” Fox caught up to the young lady with a jaunty walk, smile stretched across his face in his usual charming manner.

“Fox! Good Afternoon,” Merida’s answering smile lit up her face. _A stunning young lady, a wonderful treasure for any man who manages to catch her heart._ Fox couldn’t help the train of his thoughts, personally he thought she would make a wonderful queen one day, and damn whoever said otherwise. In the three weeks he had known the young woman she had been charming and knowledgeable. Eager to learn, lively and bright in a way that some men seemed to find offensive but Fox found endearing. She was open and expressive and real, in a way many of the noble ladies seemed to lack nowadays. Point-of-fact, Murchadh’s mother and her Lady’s in waiting were the few women of ‘noble’ class whom Fox had seen with any sort of life inside them. Many of the Lord’s wives and daughters were fashioned after ‘proper’ ladies, obsessed with their ‘appropriate’ behavior and rigid views, confining themselves into little copies of each other, while trying to out-do each other. It was maddeningly complicated.

Of all the women flashed before the King’s sons, Fox found them all lacking, except one. Princess Merida, bright and beautiful and free. _If only she was older_ , Fox lamented silently. For it would do a world of good for one of the Princes’ to marry. Particularly Murchadh, who would soon draw suspicion if he did not begin to court a woman of noble birth; there would be rumors, as if there were not already, of peasants, or servants, or men. Fox would be held in suspicion then, as the closest of Murchadh’s acquaintances, and nothing he said would ease that suspicion from him then, not even a marriage.

“My dear Lady Merida, I have taken notice of the beautiful weather we are enjoying today and wondered if you would enjoy seeing more of the country, perhaps?” Fox gave a sweeping, grand bow with a little chuckle caught in the corner of his mouth as she laughed at his theatrics.

“I think you may have read my mind,” Merida laughed gaily, her hair swinging as she shook her head, “I was just thinking of how lovely today would be for a ride.”

“If I may be so bold, my Lady, as to offer up my services as a guide and perhaps, insist upon an escort of guards?” Fox let himself grimace slightly here, “I understand Sìleas has shared with you the unfortunate problems the lands of Moireach suffer through with the bandits and raiders who think to fatten themselves off our prosperity,”

“If you think it necessary, of course,” Merida nodded, though seemed a little concerned, though it passed quickly and her smile returned. “Angus will be pleased to get out of the stables, if nothing else. I have neglected his exercise I am afraid,”

“On that note, I must inform you that our horse-master exercises every horse in the stables everyday. So you have nothing to worry about for Angus’ sake,”

“Wonderful,” Merida smiled joyfully.

Grinning, Fox left Merida at the stable to find a few guardsmen for their escort. In all honesty, however, Fox already had three men in mind. Ser Cesan, Ser Donnan and Ser Earnan, brothers and three of Moireach’s best men. As it happened they were all in the barracks when he checked in.

Cesan, the eldest, sat hunched over a torn uniform with a needle in his free hand, his back to the door. His honey-colored hair cropped short against his skull, flashing bits of a rugged jaw when his head turned even slightly. Donnan, the middle brother, was lying on his bunk, chestnut hair pulled back in a low tail against his neck. A shallow scar cut across his chin, splitting his lower lip nearly in half on a diagonal. Earnan, the youngest, was sitting across from Cesan, running polish along his magnificently crafted claymore. Of the three brothers’ he was the only one to inherit their father’s ginger locks, though he shared their mother’s warm brown eyes. He was also the first to look up at Fox’s entrance.

“Just the men I was looking for,” Fox grinned, letting the door swing shut behind him.

“Not now, you demon! Find another poor sod to do your damnable dirty work,” Donnan snarled and rolled over to face the barrack’s wall.

“You wound me, sirrah,” Fox place a hand, bracingly, against his chest feigning injury, “I have never asked something so vulgar from any of you,”

“Yet,” Earnan replied, his eyes narrowing slightly, though he continued to clean his blade.

“Fair point,” Fox grinned, a wicked edge glinting behind his teeth. “However, not today. I have another task in mind. I need bodyguards to accompany Princess Merida and myself on a ride through the countryside. Not as thrilling as some of the other things I need doing, but important, none the less.”

“Bodyguards?” Cesan finally looked up from his mending, gentle eyes briefly betraying the sharp mind behind the kind face. “The raiders along the coast, they’ve reached this far?”

“According to Lord Kinley they have or soon will,” Fox nodded, dropping the ‘lovable idiot’ face he usually wore and settling in for a serious conversation. “Prince Murchadh is planning to gain clan Dunbroch’s alliance through our good-will with the Princess. We must keep her safe. She has become uncomfortable within the castle walls, and I would rather take her out now and get her comfortable with an armed escort, than have her sneaking out on her own and getting injured or killed under our protection.”

Cesan nodded, his eyes turning inward in thought.

“Will the lady be bringing her bow?” Earnan asked, his face softening with a smile, “I watched her participate in the tournament. She is remarkably talented,”

“She is a very good archer, but I hope she will feel safe enough without it,” Fox answered, without really answering. He had not told her to bring her bow or leave it, though he hoped she would not feel the need. It would be a sign of great trust for Merida to leave her weapons in the castle while they rode.

“I will go,” Cesan nodded, standing and moving to his chest for his gear and put away his mending.

“I suppose it will be more entertaining then staring at the walls for the rest of my mandatory leave,” Donnan muttered with a huff and hefted himself out of bed. It took Fox a moment to remember why Donnan had leave now. He had been caught up in a three-day skirmish with a contingent of Roman Soldiers along their southern border just before the Noble’s Hunt three weeks ago. On the second day of battle he had nearly lost his shield arm to a Roman gladius. His eyes fell to the bandaged forearm, if he was allowed out of the healer’s eyesight at all then his arm should be fine. Donnan knew his body, like all warriors, if he thought he could handle a ride and possible skirmish then he could manage it. He would not push himself with the risk of losing his shield arm forever.

“I suppose we are all agreed then,” Earnan tossed his cloth onto the tabletop and sheathed his claymore. “We shall meet you at the front gates within twenty minutes.”

“See you then,” Fox nodded his acceptance and took a last quick glance towards Cesan’s broad shoulders hunched over his leather jerkin, fingers quickly unfastening the buckles and ties, and took his leave of the three brothers.

 

* * *

 

 Merida watched Fox leave the stables with a question written across the arch of her brow. This was one of the times Merida was forcefully reminded of the differences between Dunbroch and Moireach. Armed escort? She hadn’t needed guards with her since that bear took her father’s leg. And even that had only lasted for six months. Sìleas had warned her of the bandits, brigands and buccaneers that called the lands and seas around Moireach their territory. The stories she had heard made her shudder. There were worse things than death, according to Sìleas. Things the woman would not speak to her of, though her expression said enough. There were things people did not speak of, evil horrid things that happened but were ignored.

Whatever Fox thought was dangerous enough to get so near the castle might not be troubled by the likes of a few guards, though she had no idea if _she_ would be able to hurt whatever this possible threat was. Never the less, she found her saddle bags and slipped the dirk she had received as a birthday gift from her father into the shaft of her boot. The thin knife would not do much to a persistent foe, but it might allow Merida and her companions a window of opportunity to flee or work out another form of attack. Armed as much as she could be without being obviously rude about her lack of faith in Fox’s bodyguards, Merida straightened her skirt and returned to saddling Angus.

The Clydesdale snuffled at her affectionately, nibbling at her wild curls and nosing into her shoulder.

“Oh, get off you,” Merida pushed at his nose affectionately, “I am trying to get you saddled for a ride into the country. You will like that, hmm? A chance to stretch your legs, just be free for a bit,” Angus snorted with a nod of his head, ears twitching in anticipation. Merida smiled softly at him. She was grateful he had not abandoned her in his terror. If he had not been there when Murchadh had led her out of the healing tent, she was not sure she would have been as easy at Moireach as she felt now. It relieved her heart to know that her oldest friend was with her, if not always near by.

“Let me just saddle my horse, and we will be on our way,” Fox’s voice announced his return several minutes later as Merida was stroking Angus’ soft nose.

“Of course,” She grinned at the man and waited as patiently as she could until he was ready to leave.

“All set,” Fox grinned, swinging up into the saddle of a beautiful Eriskay pony.

They set out towards the front gate at a leisure pace, with Fox describing the simple fare he had managed to charm the cook into packing up for them, a small meal while they rode. When Fox cut off his own laughter to find something near the gate, Merida followed his gaze. At the entrance stood three Highland ponies and their three riders. Two men with brunet hair, though one was lighter than the other, and a third with brilliant auburn. The eldest looking, with the light brown hair, was carrying a sturdy halberd, set in a niche on his saddle and resting against his shoulder. The other brunet carried a broadsword at his side and a studded, leather targe on his arm. The redhead was armed with a rather large claymore, nearly as large as her father’s.

“Princess Merida,” Fox began when they pulled to a stop next to the three, “Allow me to introduce our bodyguards for the afternoon. The brothers Ser Cesan, Ser Donnan and Ser Earnan,” Fox motioned from the halberd bearer, to the shielded man, and ended with the young great-sword wielder.

“A pleasure, My Lady,” Ser Cesan bowed in his seat; his brothers followed his example a few moments later.

“An honor, Sers,” Merida nodded back politely with a smile. And with that they set out to explore the countryside. Merida enjoyed the breeze against her face as they trotted across the roads and plains, finding the information from the little bits of commentary Fox provided about the lands fascinating. Moireach grew very little near their capitol. The lands were rocky and ill suited to farming, relying mainly on their sea-fare and what little they could grow on the few flatlands nearby. Most of their grains were traded for with wool, textiles, fish, and the few spices that grew naturally in the area. Merida made a few comments here about Dunbroch in return, as their lands were nearly always producing bountiful crops, and setting up a trade route would be a fantastic boon to both kingdoms, as there were few spices that grew near Dunbroch and the lands of their allies.

The shadows lengthened as they made their way back towards the castle, so as not to be out after sunset. Their amiable silence was shattered under the audible _twang_ of an arrow loosing from a bow. The rush of air as it grazed past them and imbedded itself into the ground nearby startled their steads.

“Bandits!” Earnan shouted, jumping from his horse and unsheathing his blade. Donnan and Cesan were quick to join him, followed shortly by Fox, who motioned for Merida to remain in her saddle. Six men in rough leather armor swept down the hill towards them, with three others remaining behind, bows raised to pick off the men from behind. Fox whipped a slingshot out, little iron pellets sailing through the air with deadly accuracy to knock the archers in the face or hands. The power behind the pellets was enough for Merida to see men cradle hands and noses, broken and bleeding, nearly useless now. The three brothers were occupied with the six swordsmen who had reached them, fighting two against one, though the larger number clearly did not bother the three guards near at all. It was only her vantage point from Angus’ back and her distance from the fray that let Merida see the seventh man skulking through the shadows towards Fox.

Before she could think about what she was doing, she was leaping from Angus’ saddle, sliding her dagger from her boot and bounding nearly silent towards the man. Her dagger clashed, violently, against the hilt of his cutlass. She was almost too late, as it was she just managed to knock the man’s sword from it’s arc and save Fox’s arm, though she heard him hiss in pain as the blade caught a bit of skin. She ignored Fox’s cry, focusing on the dance she was preforming with the man now. His blade sweeping in untrained arcs as he threatened her, a sneer pulling his gruesome face into a hideous monstrosity. It took only a few glancing blows to see that he was used to intimidating his foes with his bulk and blade rather than skill. The way he gripped the hilt of his blade, swinging from his wrist and elbow, and the rough, if any, footwork he preformed were all very big clues. As she watched, looking for the bodily twitches that would show her his next attacks, she could see the difference between this bandit’s attempt at sword work and the skill with which she and her father both performed at. She took the next opening, hoping to end the conflict quickly and perhaps check on Fox’s injury. She forced his blade down, startling the man and lunged, sliding her dagger across his fleshy neck.

Merida shuddered under the unexpected spray of warmth against her face, stilling abruptly in the middle of the chaos. Her hand faltered, allowing her dirk to slip free of the man’s neck, dropping the now useless corpse to the ground. Her blade nearly followed, though she managed not to drop the weapon. Enough of her senses crying out at the danger around her for her body to keep tense. She shook like brittle leaves in the autumn wind, her eyes drifting down to the dead man at her feet. His worn clothing painted muddy-red near his neck, the open gash still gaping up at her accusingly. Her stomach roiled, sickened at the sight before her.

“…Lady Merida,” She jumped at the hand placed upon her shoulder, whipping about with wild frenzy, clutching her dagger to her chest.

Fox met her eyes, the concern in his face only deepened upon the sight of red painted across her cheeks. Tenderly, he pried her fingers from her blade, and led her over to a small outcrop of rocks, and gently helped her sit. He knelt before her and took out a slightly used handkerchief, wetting the cloth with his flask he began to clean the blood from her face.

“F-fox,” Merida shuddered, her shoulders drooping and her eyes closing against the gore her mind conjured up.

“It is alright,” Fox hushed softly, his voice quiet and honest, “You are safe, we will get you back home safely, and it is alright…”

Merida let the wash of words slowly dredge out the horrific images in her head. Her body shuddered in great gasps of air, unconscious tears falling from her eyes. When the blood was finally cleared, Fox pulled the young lady into a gentle hug, patting her back and muttering reassurances through her thick hair.

The ride back to Moireach was filled with tension. Merida’s rigid posture was the only thing that betrayed the turmoil in her head. The castle seemed too bright when they arrived, happy to receive them back into the safety of its bosom. Missing the strain of unexpected stress and horror that settled amongst the five riders. It was Ser Cesan who finally spoke and eased the knot of cold terror in her chest.

“My Lady, it is truly a sad day when a man must die to save the life of another. But it is also a proud moment. Every guardsman must kill in the performance of his duty, in defense of his charges and his Lord. I am honored to travel with you, my Lady. You are a protector of the people, and a fine example to any warrior.” Merida had no time to form any reply, though she could barely think with the guardsman’s words ringing like church bells in her head. Cesan turned his pony towards the guard’s stables and trotted away, followed by Donnan and Earnan shortly after.

_‘You are a protector of the people,’_ Merida’s mind repeated this line for the tenth time as she methodically groomed Angus, her eyes focused on the shimmering black hide beneath her palms. _‘Every guardsman must kill in the performance of his duty, in defense of his charges and his Lord.’_ Her finger’s tensed, gripping the brush with white knuckles and shaking shoulders. _‘-And a fine example of a warrior.’_

 

* * *

 

 Fox slammed the study door behind himself, the fire of simmering rage boiling inside him stoked only further by the glare Murchadh leveled at him.

“It was a catastrophe,” Fox bit out with brevity. Laying bare the entirety of the afternoon’s misadventure with curt bluntness that frankly stunned the Prince for a brief period of time.

“I see,” Murchadh sighed, hand running over his face in distress. “It may not be a total loss. Certainly not the picture of security and prosperity that I am sensing of Dunbroch, but perhaps a way to subtly emphasize the need for allies without seeming desperate. I do not want to hint at the possibilities of war yet. If I suggest something so bold, Bremner will not hesitate to paint me a war-lover and a radical. Something we do _not_ need.”

Fox sighed heavily and fell into his seat, mind utterly exhausted after the stress of his day. He could handle more if necessary but the looming threats on the horizon and the disaster of this afternoon had wrung him dry for the moment. His body was struggling to retain the shivers of shame, loathing and guilt that plagued him at the moment. He despised failure, and this felt like failure.

“Fox,” Murchadh snapped when the man refused to return to their conversation, “There was nothing else you could have done. Be thankful you considered the guards. If the Princess had gone out on her own she would be dead by now and we would be having an entirely different conversation,” Murchadh’s eyes flashed with a cold brutality that rarely made an appearance anywhere outside of a skirmish or a hunt.

Fox sighed, attempting to ease the tension from his body. Murchadh was right, of course. If the Princess had died on his watch Fox would be tortured or dead by now, at the whims of whatever mood Murchadh was in.

“You speak the truth, my lord,” Fox straightened in his chair and cleared his mind as best he could.

“As it is, this may not turn in to as large a disaster as it might have been with one of those dainty little caged-birds the Lords are so fond of. Merida handled herself well and she has been trained for combat. It may have been her first time killing a man but it could not have been prevented for much longer. She was trained to fight; it is in her blood. She will use these skills like every other skill she has ever learned and eventually she will overcome the shock of killing a man. That it was in defense of a friend will likely ease the burden from her mind much quicker as well.”

Fox sighed, this was territory where neither of them had any past experience. Murchadh had killed his first man at the age of twelve in a skirmish, when the royal family was traveling to visit Lord Wishart for the spring months. Fox had been only a few months younger than Merida when he killed an assassin sent to murder Murchadh in his bed. Neither of them had felt very guilty about the kills. They had trained to protect themselves and others since childhood. Both of them had understood what their weapons were capable of, and what they were meant to do. It was likely that Merida’s parents had never meant for her to need her skills in battle, at least not any time soon. Dunbroch seemed almost unrealistic at times, training a woman to fight with weapons without the underlying knowledge that one day she would use that training to take a life in defense of her own, her ideals, or her people.

“I shall endeavor to keep an eye on her, then. It is possible that I will need to explain some of the basics from our training.” Fox stood and made a quick retreat, leaving Murchadh to his thoughts.

Fox watched her for the next two days, drifting through the castle without leaving her head. She seemed preoccupied, most likely stuck in her thoughts. Fox knew enough of other guards’ reactions to see bits of her reflections stretched across her absent face. On the third day he matched her pace as she trailed through the corridor and gently took her by the elbow and led her out into the practice yard. He had picked up her bow earlier this morning and directed her to the empty range. Without a sound he handed her the quiver and bow and settled back against the railing.

“My Lady, when a man is taught to fight his first lesson is always the same. There will come a day when he must use his lessons against another man. It is the reason we spar. It is apparent, to me, that your teacher was remiss in this duty. He did not teach you to understand that there are times when your training will put you in danger, and get you back out of it.” Fox spoke with a calmness that seemed to ease her, the tension visibly draining out of her shoulders as he spoke. Eventually she began to string her bow and lift it to shoot.

“You seem to think that you are at fault for that man’s death,” Merida’s head whipped around, arrow flying from her bow to land in the dirt six paces from the target. “You are wrong.”

“How, Fox? That man is dead because of me! He may have had a wife. Children! He had parents, at least. What will happen to them when he does not return home? How can I live with myself after that?”

“You can and you will.” Fox straightened and clasped her gently by the shoulders. “Listen to me, Princess. Every man can kill; every man can thieve and lie. It is our choices that define us. That man and his companions were ready to slaughter us; he had no qualms about killing you or me. The fact that you blame yourself for his choice to attack us makes you a better person than he likely ever was in life. He may have had family, we will never truly know. But what if he was not just violent to strangers? You could have saved them from being beaten and abused by him that evening. You saved my arm at the least, possibly my life, and I will always be grateful for that,”

Merida was crying, her head hanging between them with silent tears falling into the dirt.

“There, there,” Fox hushed, pulling her into another hug. “You are a brave lass. And I owe you my life for it. You did not have to charge into that battle. And yet you did, to save me. I am immensely honored that you think so highly of me that you value my life. That does not mean that you value one life over another, just that you did not wish to lose me. It is a comforting thought to have such a treasured friend,” Fox stroked her hair gently, letting the girl cry against his shoulder for several minutes before she pulled away with an embarrassed little smile. It was a bit broken, but it was there.

“It would be a terrible loss, Fox. Although, maybe not to Beathag,”

“Ah, such lies,” Fox grinned, a hand pressed to his chest in fake pain. Merida giggled at his theatrics and picked up her bow, having dropped it earlier during their hug. This time her aim was true, the arrow sliding forcefully into the bull’s eye with a sense of finality. From his seat behind her, Fox thought he could almost see the resolve harden in her spine. She would overcome this, for the sake of those she wished to protect, for her friends, and her family. She would be strong.

The Princess was nearly back to normal by the time Aodhan returned with the reply from Dunbroch, though neither Aodhan nor Fox read the missive Merida’s reaction spoke clearly enough. The letter was not the news she was hoping for. In the end it mattered little, though, Aodhan’s report was much more informative.

“The castle and lands are extensive, an easy match for Moireach,” Aodhan began. “Though they style was unfamiliar, their carvings are magnificent. They have very fine tools to etch out incredibly tiny details, and the stonework is amazing. They have an archway in the main room that has only two supporting columns…” The messenger continued on his findings, the innovations in the castle’s woodwork, textiles, farming, animal husbandry, ironwork, the list was extensive.

King Fergus was also an avid collector of bear pelts and mounted trophies. The full sized bear, stuffed and displayed in all their massive and fearsome glory, a warning to any enemies. Queen Elinor’s exquisite tapestries, depicting the royal family and their stories, wove a rich and detailed history. The three young princes, whose mischief was great and terrible, all beloved by their subjects for their naïve joyfulness. It was the tale of a kingdom who loved their King, and a King who returned that love just as much.

“The King and Queen also sent this, sire,” Aodhan presented a tightly bound package, wrapped in waxed sheepskin to prevent the elements from despoiling their gift. Murchadh unwrapped the package with care, taking note of the finely crafted rope. Inside was a tapestry, the fabrics dyed in expensively vivid colors, the weaving of the finest quality. Murchadh unrolled it, revealing a symbol he had seen once before, on Merida’s necklace.

“That is the clan symbol of Dunbroch,” Aodhan piped up from his chair, “The sword is originally theirs and the four intertwined circles are the symbol of the four united clans under them. They stand for clan Dunbroch, clan Dingwall, clan MacGuffin, and clan Macintosh. And if I am seeing that correctly, that is the symbol of Queen Elinor in the corner, she probably made this herself.”

“It is fantastic,” Fox ran a hand over the symbol in admiration. The two shades of green set against a backdrop of vivid mauve.

“They gave us their clan symbol?” Murchadh muttered, one hand rubbing thoughtfully against his jaw.

“They must be incredibly thankful for our hospitality to the Princess,” Fox’s eyes snapped to Murchadh, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes.

“Oh they are,” Aodhan nodded eagerly, “They had search parties out looking for her, but they found nothing until I arrived with her letter. The King and Queen were very relieved to hear from her and very thankful. The servants were especially happy to know she was safe. She is very well loved,”

“We shall have to send a gift back with her,” Murchadh examined the tapestry with thoughtful eyes, “Something equally valuable and meaningful, perhaps even several gifts. To show our generosity and our gratitude.”

“What about the pelt of that bear you slew this autumn?” Fox settled back in his chair with a small grin, “King Fergus would appreciate that, it would also show your prowess in battle. And perhaps one of the Moireach family tapestries? The value of those is nearly equal to this, though perhaps not as novel. We might also send a small gilt box of spices or gems, perhaps even a few of the smith’s best weapons.”

“Those are all wonderful suggestions,” Murchadh mused, eyes drifting to the missive half-hidden beneath the Dunbroch tapestry. The contents had been displeasing at first, but perhaps… Yes, this could serve as a fine cover.

The gifts alone meant nothing, they would never work by themselves. But with a little acting, which he was not above doing to further his agenda, and all together they could appear to be ‘courting gifts’. The giving of clan symbols was a general sign of friendship, gratitude and even alliance; the bear pelt would show a proper interest in King Fergus’ interests and history, the weapons would show this as well. Especially if he sent one of their finest bows, the nod to Merida’s prowess in her art would be a good place to start as well. The boxes of gems and spices were traditional however, and more than anything would convey his expression. If he sent them with a note that expressed his wish for a match but understood that Merida was not ready for any sort of marriage, that he wished to ask her in person and that he was willing to wait until she was more amenable to the idea. _Perhaps,_ Murchadh mused of the idea, _it could work if I worded the letter correctly and sent just enough to be proper but not enough to make them feel obliged to acknowledge the offer or mention it to Merida yet._ Yes. It would do.

“Send them all,” Murchadh instructed, a wry curve tilting his lips. It was not his fault if the Lords misconstrued his overtures of alliance for a wish of courtship, and it would certainly ease the pressure from his mother some. It was not as if Merida was an acceptable age for marriage here in Moireach, Merida herself would never accept, and it would allow him a few years of lee-way in which to work his agenda further and perhaps persuade the Lords and his father to his preference of bachelor-hood.

And if not, Merida would have little to no trouble in rejecting him. An alliance was not dependent on a marriage, after all, and as he was not the offending party in the rejection the offer would not hinder his desire for an alliance with her kingdom. Murchadh relaxed further into his chair, mulling over his decision. The more he thought about it the better this option sounded, it would clear up multiple problems on his end and cause nothing but frustration for Lord Bremner. Murchadh mentally scoffed at the reminder of the letter. As if Bremner’s pallid little daughters could ever entice him to marriage. All six of his pasty little tarts were unflattering beneath the surface, and Murchadh knew for a fact they had all slept with his younger brother at least once before. No, Bremner would never get an opening at him through marriage, and Murchadh was likely to block any other method as well.

The smirk on his face refused to go away as Fox discussed the necessary preparations for sending their offerings to Dunbroch. Princess Merida would likely never know how fortunate her arrival at Moireach had become. And just how grateful Murchadh was that proceedings would likely become smoother and more stable with her good favor.

 

* * *

 

 After her talk with Fox Merida’s mind stopped flashing those horrifying images every time she closed her eyes. Just in time for the messenger to return from Dunbroch. The man was clearly disgruntled from the long assignment, though the reason behooved Merida. The journey should not have taken much longer than a day, perhaps a day and a half. Her mother’s reply, however, was less well received than Merida had hoped. There was nothing about Merida’s fears in Elinor’s words, just how necessary it was for Merida to understand her duty as the Princess.

“Understand? _Understand!?!_ I do not _want_ to _understand_!” Merida hissed between clenched teeth, her fingers digging into her arms painfully. “My whole life has been _‘A Princess does not mutter under her breath’,_ _‘A Princess should not_ have _weapons’_ and _‘A Princess does what she is told’_. I did not even want to _be_ a princess! It is my life, this is not fair!” She snarled, snatching stones from the darkened shore and tossing them roughly into the black water of the ocean.

“Is it so wrong to want my freedom? To resent the clans who wish to force me into a marriage that will cripple me?” Merida chucked her last stone into the dark water, her anger ebbing. “What about me? What choice do I have when they are all against me?” She sighed, shoulders slumping in resignation. As always she came back to the most important question. _What else was there for her?_ She was the daughter of the King; she had never worked an occupation. She could dress herself and saddle a horse; she could shoot better than most of the men in the realm but that was all worthless to any man below the title of ‘lord’. And very few lords would hire a woman archer, even a skilled tracker. Women were meant to cook, clean, sew and maybe learn the healer’s work. Merida could name the three women who had ever broken that mold and all of them were daughters of Kings, or Queens in their own right. She had been allowed so much leeway but the end of her rope was here and the headsman was sharpening his axe. _But I can taste it, my freedom, it is right there on the tip of my tongue. If I could just –_ but that was just it, Merida did not know what she could do.

She tugged her cloak tighter around herself and settled into a seat in the sand, the dull roar of breaking waves soothing away the stress of the past weeks. The night air burrowed into her body in frigid, infrequent gusts; it was almost enough to drive her back into the warmth of the castle’s walls, but her distress was more powerful than the thought of relief from the chill.

“Is there nothing I can do?” She nearly whispered the words, setting her head against her knees with a sigh, her fingers brushing faintly against the damnable letter in her pocket.

“There is a way,” Merida’s head snapped up at the faint, echoing voice, her eyes searching through the silvery mist.

“Who is there?” She stood, wary of being caught sitting on the ground.

“Fear not, young Princess, I wish you no ill will,” A figure emerged from the fog; faint and blurred, blending with the dark grey setting. “I am,” an embarrassed pause as the form stepped closer, “I was Princess Meadhbh of Ruthven,”

The stranger’s body solidified with the spoken name like mist swirling inside a glass vase. The woman’s dark hair was swept over one shoulder, falling in shady curls against her pale skin and faint blue dress. Her image was nearly transparent, the lines of the beach visible through the folds of her clothes and the pallor of her skin. The ghost, for that was all she could be, settled her dark eyes upon Merida. The weight behind her eyes conveying a sympathy and empathy that crossed over the vale that separated their two worlds briefly before vanishing as if it had never been. Merida did not forget that weight, however, it was important. She could feel it.

“I am Princess Merida of Dunbroch,” Merida dipped into a curtsey, suddenly aware of her nightclothes beneath her cloak, hardly as magnificent as the formal wear of her visitor.

“You are speaking of an unwanted marriage, please, tell me your story,” Meadhbh entreated, sitting primly into a chair, materialized from the same fog as the woman. Merida blinked in momentary bewilderment before relenting; beginning at the announcement of the clan’s acceptance and ending with the fight she had fled from before divulging her feelings at Meadhbh’s prompting.

“I am not ready for marriage,” Merida declared passionately, turning to face Meadhbh from her frantic pacing, “I want time to be me for as long as I can. I am not ready to be saddled to a man who does not understand that I am my own person. That I have thoughts and opinions, that I know I can become a great leader if I could just – prove it, or find some way to make them see,” Merida’s voice trailed off, her shoulders slumping once more in defeat. “But my mother…she never listens. I tried to tell her, and she just,” Merida pulled the parchment from her pocket and glanced at those damning words.

_You must understand what your refusal will cost us all, Merida. Tradition dictates that the Princess_ must _marry a first-born son. You cannot simply hide and wish for this all to go away. When you return to us, we shall speak with the Lords about your betrothal. They must have a resolution, Merida, and the land cannot be torn by war and violence once more. Your father fought one war already, long before you were born, Dunbroch may not survive a war within the four clans._

Meadhbh gently took the parchment from Merida’s hand, the paper dampened slightly under her touch as she read the Queen’s reply. And then, the Lady stood.

“In many ways, you are much like I once was,” Meadhbh began, folding the letter with careful creases and pressing the papers back into Merida’s cold hands. “I rejected my betrothed as well.”

“You did?” Merida looked at the woman with astonishment and a bit of hope, “Then you would know, you can help me break mine as well.”

“I can yes,” Meadhbh nodded softly, her eyes crinkling softly with affection, “However, you may wish to rethink you options when you hear my tale.”

Meadhbh led Merida a short ways away from the water’s edge and settled the girl upon the rocks there, before taking a seat besides her.

“I was the Princess of Ruthven, a prosperous and well established Kingdom to the north of here,” She began, her eyes growing distant as she stared off into the ocean, “Of all the King’s daughters I was considered the most beautiful. Men from every allied clan desired me, though I was frigid, at best, with those who attempted to court me. There was one man, Lord Carnegie, a great friend of my father’s, who desired me above all else, and so he went to my father and promised him gold. And when my father asked me, and I refused him, he went away rejected. Several months later he returned, and this time he offered my father jewels and spices from the lands he had trade with on the continent. Again my father asked me, and I refused, and he went away rejected and angry. A year later he returned and offered my father the alliance of three strong clans, four thousand chattel, three hundred of his finest warriors, six hundred chests of expensive and beautiful fabrics, and the gold, jewels and spices from before.

“My father came to me again and this time, he asked me to speak with this man, his most trusted and loyal friend. I entered the throne room in my finest gown, and settled into my throne; displaying the same cold face I presented to every suitor I had ever seen personally. Carnegie made his offer again, to me, and when he finished with the things he would add to my father’s assets he assured me of my comfort as his wife; of his desires for children, for prosperity and plenty and the ease of an extravagant and secure future. When he was silent once again, waiting for my eager acceptance, I spoke. And I told him that I was uninterested in marriage, that I could not see in him any sort of future together and of my disgust at his offer. He was angry then, demanding that I explain my answer and that I tell him what he could do to earn my affectionate regard.

“I answered poorly. ‘I have no desire to see within you anything that could kindle my affection for you or any other man’ I said then, and I left the hall without another word. Three months later, a man came to the castle looking for work, a lesser nobleman who became my father’s steward. He was charming, clever and funny. And I felt like the sun would never set if he smiled at me. We could not marry; of course, he had nothing to offer my father for a bride price. But I did not care. He was my Artair, my beloved. We planned to elope together. I could bring my jewels and sell them for passage to the continent where Artair had relatives who could help us get by until we found some way to support ourselves. I did not know that another overheard our plan, a man who was loyal to Lord Carnegie.

“We managed to get to this harbor without issue, and by then my reputation was in ruins for we had been on the roads for several weeks. When we arrived the boat was waiting and Artair went to speak with the captain. Lord Carnegie’s men attacked us then. The crew had been slaughtered sometime in the night and it was we two against thirty men. Artair fell quickly and I could do nothing, I was powerless to stop them. Carnegie was there, and after Artair lay dead in the sand he came to me and spat in my face. ‘If I cannot have you, no one shall’ he had snarled, and then he plunged his dagger into my chest. But I did not care for my life then, Artair was no longer there and I did not have any reason to live. But I will never see my dear Artair; I am trapped in this half-life between the worlds. And so I watched Carnegie cover my body with rough linens and tie my body with hemp-rope and weigh me down with boulders and stones, and then drop my corpse into the sea from this cliff. And that is my tale.”

“He murdered you?” Merida stared at the dead woman in horror, the letter lying forgotten on her lap.

“Yes, all for my rejection,” Meadhbh nodded solemnly and turned her gaze back to the young woman who still glowed with such vivid life. “I have been here for decades, roaming the wilds and now the buildings. I have seen love bloom and wither, I have seen wars and peace, and I have watched the nobles’ banter and scheme. I have watched you best men with your bow and your knife,” Merida flinched and paled at the mention of her first kill, it was still a sore point. “For all your strength, even you will not survive the breaking of this betrothal,”

“Why? You said there was a way; I will do anything to keep my independence. Please, Meadhbh!” Merida startled and attempted to grab the lady’s hands, though her fingers slipped through the woman who had become as unassailable as air in her death. The woman turned to her, eyes searching and gentling when they found the core of determination that made Merida who she was.

“There is a way to keep your freedom without breaking the betrothal.” She offered softly, and Merida felt like the wind had just been knocked out of her. “Throughout the centuries I have witnessed every sort of method to resist an unwanted suitor, from deception to murder. And there is only one true way to win without throwing your lands into disaster.”

“How?” Merida glanced down at her mother’s letter, remembering the mentions of war. She may have made light of it once before, but after killing a man, she wasn’t so sure she could throw her people into a battle so large and so outnumbered.

“Politics.” Meadhbh explained. “Words hold power amongst the noble classes. And the words of a Princess may not be worth the same as a King’s, but you hold power Merida. Your words, even your actions, can make an ally more loyal or treacherous. If you compromised, perhaps, acknowledging that you need more time while also accepting the necessity of marriage and set a future deadline. You would receive the time necessary to sway their hearts to your side while appeasing their need for adherence to their customs.”

“Appeasement?” Merida muttered softly under her breath, thinking over the idea with surprising agreement. This sounded a lot like what her mother would advise if Elinor were on her side. After a few minutes of silence while Merida mulled the idea around, she finally looked back at the woman and grinned.

“And you are sure they will not try to murder me later?”

“Only if you manage to upset them while you speak,” Meadhbh smiled a little coldly.

“Oh,” Merida blinked and grimaced, “I have terrible tact,”

“That, at least, is something I can help you with,” The woman smiled a little warmer and lifted a dainty hand to Merida’s temple. “You may have a bit of a head-ache tomorrow, however.”

Something cold and heavy slithered against the back of Merida’s brow, wrapping against the inside of her skull like a thick, waterlogged blanket. She shivered at the feel, like slime pressed against her skin.

“What was that?” Merida grimaced, though the feeling was beginning to ease.

“I have passed on a little of my knowledge, a gift, to prevent you from committing the same mistakes I once made,” Meadhbh smiled softly and stood, running a hand over her skirts out of habit.

“Thank you,” Merida glanced down at her mother’s letter, the tension now gone completely, her worries eased. She would be all right now, she hoped. She would get out of this betrothal. When she looked up again Meadhbh was beginning to melt back into the mist, a faint echo of her voice drifting back to Merida as she walked away.

“Remember, Princess Merida of Dunbroch, your words are more precious than gold. Weigh them wisely, for they can both save you, and doom you.” And then, the faint outline of Meadhbh’s figure faded entirely into the mists and shadows of the night.


	3. Chapter 3

_ Chapter 3 _

Merida looked up from her packing, settling the few things she had taken from Dunbroch into the cloth bag she had been given for her ride home. Fox had explained that her saddlebags were full of gifts for her parents, a custom since her mother had sent one with the letter. The knock that had disturbed her packing came again.

“Come in,” Merida called, setting the bag on her bed.

“Lady Merida,” Sìleas called, stepping into the room with a fond smile, a small stack of cloth in her hands. A small silver necklace was nestled on the top of the stack, the emerald pendant struck Merida as very familiar. And with a startled huff she realized it was one of Queen Caena’s trinkets.

The Queen had pulled her aside several times through out her stay in Moireach, friendly and kind. Merida sensed that she truly wanted a daughter to spend her days with, to teach all the female things to. For the sake of politeness and, admittedly, interest Merida had allowed herself to enjoy the hours Caena had spent teaching her the subtle art of speechmaking, the difficult twists of weaving, the simple pleasure of a good book and tea. In those moments Merida had felt heartsick for her own mother who tried so hard to get her interested in these things as well. It was a startling revelation for Merida, to realize how disrespectful she was towards her mother.

The morning after her conversation with the ghost of Lady Meadhbh Queen Caena and Sìleas had pulled her aside to speak about her mother’s letter. The conversation had not begun well. Merida’s blood still boiled from the indignation of her mother’s reply about duty and understanding. It had not helped that Meadhbh’s gift had been pounding through her skull all evening and had not softened in the light of day. She had felt at once both enlightened and befuddled. Eventually she did listen to them; however, and finally she began to understand.

Both women had spoken with her at length about the process and the politics involved with such an event. And though they did not judge her poorly for her actions they had shown her the errors of her ways. There was the possibility of war riding on her acceptance of the betrothal, though she loathed the thought of marriage to anyone at this point. Both women had eased the guilt she felt at leaving her parents to deal with what was, ultimately, her mistake and responsibility. Privately, Caena had agreed with Merida, insisting that she was too young for such a responsibility. But if it was the way of Dunbroch, then there was very little that Merida could do.

She did not fully comprehend her mother’s point of view, but she could see a piece of it, and grudgingly accepted her role. She was responsible for more than her own life, whether by her choice or her parents she would fulfill her role. And she truly wanted to be worthy of her people’s respect and loyalty. She was well liked in Dunbroch for sure, but was she worthy of their allegiance. And honestly, Merida did not think she was at the moment. Perhaps, if she worked for it, she could be.

“A few last minute offerings, my lady,” Sìleas set the pile on the thick coverlet with a smile, her gentle face softening further.

“I am not sure I will be able to lift this when I am done,” Merida grinned with a huff, her laughter barely stifled.

“Oh, I am sure it will not be a problem,” Sìleas waved her away from the bag and began settling the cloth, dresses Merida could now identify, into the sack. “If you can not lift it, I shall simply call for Fox to carry it down,”

“I would imagine Fox has other duties to take care of than to carry my baggage,”

“Oh I doubt it, he is Prince Murchadh’s man so he delegates most of the tasks the prince needs or wants done. If it is something vitally important, mayhap,” Sìleas snorted with elegant distain, the end of her nose crinkling in distaste.

“You do not seem to like him much,” Merida settled for folding up the few bits of clothing she had brought with her, along with the repaired formal dress.

“He is a knave and a scoundrel. Sets about with all manner of trouble brewing in his head, that one. Like as not to be counting his merits and never an eye to his sins.”

“Oh,” Merida let the rest of her little rant wash against deaf ears as she realized just how poorly Sìleas viewed Fox. She had assumed, quite wrongly apparently, that Fox was well liked for his charming wit and funny ripostes. Silently, however, Merida disagreed with the elder woman who had watched over her during her stay. Fox had always been kind and amiable, attentive in the way of a friend and never hinting towards anything more, and he had been there when she truly needed someone to pull her out of her own head after the skirmish in the country. Perhaps it was just that Sìleas did not see Fox’s softer side, _or maybe I just have yet to see his cruel side_ , Merida could not keep the thought from flickering into being for a moment. _Nonsense,_ she told it firmly, _Fox has been nothing but amiable to me for nearly two whole months I will not think ill of him when he has done nothing to earn it._ And that was that.

“Well,” Merida broke in when the elder woman paused to catch her breath, her grey brows drawn together in spite, “That is that, and I should be off before the sun rises any higher. The weather is still well enough to travel and if I miss today I may not have a chance to get home before the snows start.”

And that was the truth, the autumn had gone by now, and the days were turning shorter and cooler. The skies filling with ever darkening clouds that threatened frigid rain, snow, and even hail, soon. Spending a month at Moireach had been pleasant, but Merida knew quite well how unwelcome it was to winter in another’s castle. Cooped up behind thick stonewalls, barring her from the outdoors. Trapped and jailed like some kept bird, it was not her place to be holed away inside walls and Dunbroch knew that. Here they would be worried for her, with the raiders and bandits lurking in the cold winter darkness and the risk of blizzards and storms. Dunbroch would understand, partly, her desire for the air in her face and the land under her feet. She would not need to go too far, and she would take Angus, and maybe a guard now, but she would not be trapped inside and stifled.

It was strange how suddenly she yearned for her home again. For the Firefalls and the forest and the cattle. For her father, her brothers, even her mother. And she wished it would be faster, and at the same time slower. She loved Moireach, wild and new. Rich with story and character she had yet to learn, and maybe even the home of her first true friends, thinking of Murchadh and Fox. So it was with a warring heart that she took the steps down to the courtyard to find Angus tacked out and waiting for her patiently, two saddlebags packed to bulging. She smiled at him, and slid her pack onto her back before turning to the few people who had come out to see her off.

“Be careful, dearest,” Queen Caena hugged her briefly with a watery smile before releasing her.

“I will,”

“I expect to see you again soon, my lady,” Sìleas smiled warmly, affection clearly etched in every wrinkle of her kind face.

“As soon as is appropriate,” Merida smiled, “With a proper invitation this time, I hope,”

“I fear we did not get through all the tapestry stories, or the carvings, Princess. But, I shall keep them for another visit, perhaps.” Murchadh bowed formally before taking her hand with a gentle squeeze and a brief but sincere smile.

“I would be delighted,” Merida grinned in return, “Or even in letters, if that is acceptable, though they will lack the weight of your voice.”

“Until we meet again, fairest lady,” Fox dipped into a ridiculously deep bow and a comical grin on his face. Merida laughed gaily at him, and with him.

“Until then, devil,”

And then it was time for Merida to depart. The sun, hidden discreetly behind sheets of purple-grey clouds was climbing higher as she stalled. Her heart still divided. She loved her home, and yet, she was beginning to love Moireach just the same. With a small shake of her head she mounted Angus and angled him towards the gates.

“I shall send word as soon as I am home again,” She smiled down at them, only Murchadh was tall enough to look at without dropping her chin now.

“Then we shall wait eagerly,” Murchadh, replied, his face grim but his eyes warm, and for some reason ‘we’ sounded much more like he was saying ‘I’. Merida smiled one last time at them before nudging Angus forward and heading out the gates. She looked back only once at the bottom of the stone path, and found both Murchadh and Fox watching her leave. She waved back briefly, watching them raise hands to say a final goodbye, and then she nudged Angus once more and cantered down the rest of the path.

She only slowed Angus again when they were nearing the ring of standing stones. This time she dismounted before leading Angus through by his reigns, and though he pulled against her with reluctance, he did not pull from her hands entirely and run away.

The clearing was wider than most of the forest clearings she had been through before, thick green grass grew lush and beautiful with a few patches of wild flowers strewn through out it. The stones that ringed the clearing were huge, standing nearly as tall or taller than the ceiling of Dunbroch’s great hall. It was a beautiful site, and this time Merida could enjoy the view as she walked through it. The air seemed thick with promise, mystical in the way Merida had imagined only the great legends had ever really felt before. _This is important;_ her mind whispered quietly, _this means something_. But for the life of her she could not puzzle out what was so important about this clearing and it’s odd stones, so she left, a relieved Clydesdale following behind her. The rest of her journey was simple, the path winding through the forest in lazy, unhurried turns and strides. When she came to the open fields that spread out beneath her like an open invitation, she grinned and nudged Angus into a gallop, charging through the fields and round the bend through a small section of woodlands and up the path into the heart of her castle and home.

The courtyard was quiet, though it bothered her none. She dismounted and settled Angus in the stables with a good grooming and some oats and water. Then she hitched the saddlebags over her free shoulder and entered the castle. She passed through a handful of servants who smiled at her with warm greetings, offering to take her bags or help her carry them. She let one of the ladies take her pack up to her room but insisted on carrying the saddlebags herself. The servants, knowing her well enough to just smile indulgently at her, pointed her to her father’s study where the king and queen were speaking in private.

“All right Merida, you can do this,” She muttered to herself and knocked on the thick door.

“Come in,” Her father’s voice answered her knock and with one last steadying breath Merida pushed open the door and entered.

“Merida!” Fergus was out of his chair almost immediately, with Elinor a few seconds behind him. He folded her into a bear hug, allowing her to breathe in the scent of sword polish and wood that always made her think of him.

“Father! Mother!” She answered the hug with one of her own, feeling her mother’s hand settle on her shoulder and waiting for Fergus to release her. After hugging her mother as well she set the saddlebags on her fathers desk and sat in one of the empty chairs. They asked about her stay in Moireach, and about the King and his family. She found herself speaking at great length about the tournament and the dances, her tapestry, which was in her bag upstairs, about the four brothers and her new friends there. It seemed like hours until she ran out of things to talk about, even if she did include the horrible bandit attack. She did not tell them about her encounter with Meadhbh, however. That was more delicate and a little too personal for the moment; she just wanted to be happy to be back home without all the mess involved with the betrothal fiasco.

“It seems you had quite the adventure, lass,” Fergus smiled at her warmly from behind his beard, “Dinner should be soon, so go ahead and unpack your things and get changed. We will meet you in the hall for dinner,”

“Alright,” and with that Merida left her parents alone to get unpacked and cleaned up for dinner.

It was not until she had stowed the last of her things away that she realized she was missing her clan scarf. The little scrap of tartan that she carried with her in case of cold or an emergency (though she had yet to need it for the latter) was missing. She checked all of her belongings to see if it had gotten caught or mixed up with something else but it was nowhere to be found. After searching for nearly a quarter of an hour and coming up empty handed and late for supper, she gave up. She could always pick up another from the seamstress or the quartermaster later and it was not a big deal. Hamish, Hubert and Harris lost theirs every other week, and there were always spares for decorations or little accents to things.

Deciding to give it up as a loss, and more likely than not having left it back in her room at Moireach, she slipped down stairs for dinner and put it out of her mind.

 

* * *

 

“Do not ask me for anything again, you scoundrel,” Sìleas snarled and shoved the little scrap of blue-green and grey fabric into his hands. Fox snatched the fabric with a wicked little grin and thanked the old woman even as she walked hurriedly away. Quite pleased with himself and incredibly smug at his contribution to this new plot, Fox sauntered towards Murchadh’s large frame hovering at the gates. He was staring silently at the young princess’ departing figure as she cantered down the path leading into the forest that bordered their lands.

“For you, My Lord,” Fox held out the tartan plaid with his accomplished smile lingering upon his lips, “The young lady seems to have forgotten it,”

Murchadh’s gaze flickered up, a pleased smirk curling the corners of his lips as he slid the fabric from Fox’s hands and fingered the material, turning his gaze solemnly back towards the girl.

“Thank you, Fox,” They watched her until she disappeared into the forest and beyond their sight before retiring to Murchadh’s study.

“I thought it might be a nice touch,” Fox flopped into his chair with a gracelessness that defied his nature, “I thought you might be able to stare longingly out of windows with it clutched gently in your hand, a poor imitation of the one thing you truly wish to hold,”

“Fox,” Murchadh’s brow twitched with subtle irritation, “It will be a useful affectation but refrain from romanticizing my actions, please,”

“As you wish,” Fox beamed, pleased to have gained the acknowledgement of his acceptance to the idea.

Murchadh slid the scrap through his belt and tied it there, a reminder, of sorts, for ‘himself’ and others of his attachment to the departed young lady. He had submitted to the idea of his little act, not that unwillingly either. It would be simple to pull off by fiddling with the scarf during meetings while he was thinking in silence and staring towards the forest with a carefully constructed look of loss and longing on his face. Not as difficult as it could be, and one of the more useful subterfuge he would likely need for several years.

Perhaps one of the most useful aspects of this deception was the age discrepancy. Murchadh was not actually bothered by the seven-year difference, though he did think Merida was far too young for marriage. The gap in their ages, however, allowed for those gossips amongst the servants and the nobility to speculate however they wished to about why Murchadh kept his ardor to himself. Whether out of fear of rejection, a belief in her inability to see past his age or even her parents’ refusal to wed their young daughter to an older man. Either way he could keep himself out of his mother’s and the nobles’ lists of eligible men and be free to do as he pleased with his spare time.

“We have work to do, Fox,” Murchadh settled his thoughts back onto his work for the time being, pulling out his copy of the castle’s treasury ledger. One of the many tasks he had taken up in his teens was keeping up on the state of the kingdom’s coffers. Through no fault of his father’s or the people, the man hired to keep records of the treasury had stolen nearly half of the kingdom’s funds by the time Murchadh was twelve. At the time Murchadh had furious, and set the man up for a carefully planned ‘accident’. The money was never found after the bastard’s death and Murchadh had learned to cool his head before planning any form of revenge. The current treasurer was a member of Murchadh’s own circle of supporters, and he kept both official and unofficial records of the Kingdom’s coffers. Officially Moireach was well financed, unofficially, Murchadh needed to bolster their funds to support the expenses of running a full staff and holding the events that were necessary for the kingdom’s face. It was frustrating how one man could practically cripple an entire kingdom through their wealth.

“The bandits who attacked us should bring in a small bounty from the High King at least, that should give us a little more cushion for the season,” Fox muttered, still stinging from the horrible affair that idea had turned out to be.

“Yes, and we’ve sent out proper raiding parties for the rest of the group as well,” Murchadh made a small notation in his books. “Taxes should be coming in as well this month, along with the census,”

“Caoimhe already volunteered to settle out the census results with Muireall,” Fox offered, slipping the two women’s note onto the desk with the little census coin. The women were lesser-known supporters of Murchadh’s agenda, both preferring to remain in the background until they were needed for tasks. Caoimhe was apprenticed to the current quartermaster; she had a head for numbers and kept a strict watch on all her supplies. Muireall was Beathag’s inventory keeper; her organization system for the castle’s linens was intricate enough to confuse practically everyone but her. Surprisingly both women had become fast friends and comfortable enough with their jobs to actually assist each other in case of an emergency.

“Perfect, if you could organize a room for them to keep the paperwork until their finished with it all, Fox,” Murchadh muttered, distracted by his accounting.

“Of course,” Fox stood and left, knowing Murchadh would have mentioned it if he was needed for anything else at the moment. He would drop by after setting up a workroom for the women to arrange all the census papers in. With luck he would not be needed for the rest of the day and could see about working through the little bits of backlog that had gotten shuffled to the side during the princess’ stay. Fortunately it was nothing overly important.

It was not to be, however. After settling the two women’s new study, he had orders to deliver for the two small groups of bounty hunters who made it their job to track down bandits and raiders with an eye to which would fetch the most dead or alive. After delivering orders, Fox was hustled into a fierce battle of wills between the cook and the quartermaster over the state of the larder and the necessary preparations for the winter months on their horizon. And then it was time for supper and Fox was almost too mentally exhausted to eat let alone think about paperwork afterwards.

“Fox, if your not too busy this evening I will need to speak with you about our recent state of affairs,” Murchadh mentioned in a fairly quiet whisper as they settled at the table. Murchadh had insisted, when they had first begun their partnership, that his manservant be allowed to dine with him as Murchadh had need of him at almost every other time of day and if Fox did not eat at the same time the poor man would never eat at all. Thankfully King Dùghlas and Queen Caena were not formal people and accepted Murchadh’s needs as the young prince had already been overlooking parts of the castle’s business at the time and they seemed to indulge his desire to understand the castle’s management. Now it was common enough for them to even bring work to the table, though Queen Caena disliked paperwork mixed between the food, it was too distracting.

“And what is it your scheming today, big brother?” Teàrlaidh settled in place across from them with an air of perpetual boredom.

“My Lord never schemes,” Fox sniffed in disdain, raising his nose with a hint of a smirk on his lips.

“He is always scheming,” Niallghas slid in beside Teàrlaidh and began filling his plate with food.

“I was simply wondering if Fox had managed to pack all of the items into Princess Merida’s saddlebags,” Murchadh deflected casually, a small tick of frustration flashing briefly across his jaw.

“Of course, My Lord,” Fox nodded with a smile, “Everything was settled as tradition dictates, though your letter might be a bit unconventional, I am sure the King and Queen will understand that she is far too young as yet, but the option is available either way,”

“Too young for what? What option?” Rodaidh piped in, his bright voice loud enough to ensure that most of the table was now focused on their conversation. _Excellent_. Fox slid his gaze quickly to Murchadh, catching the satisfied glint in his eye and the little twitch in the muscle of his neck that Fox knew meant he was pleased with this turn of events.

“The courting gifts which I prepared to tradition, with the letter to the King and Queen of Prince Murchadh’s understanding that the Princess was of marriageable age according to Dunbroch ruling but still too young by Moireach law and his bid for her hand, though they would need to wait several years,” Fox ended his explanation by turning to Murchadh, “I made sure the bow was included as well, I thought it a fitting statement that if she chose to wield it, it would be your betrothal gift to her,”

“Yes, the bow was a wonderful addition,” Murchadh nodded in acceptance of his inclusion, though he had already approved the idea before Fox had packed up the gifts.

“Murchadh, did you really send them courting gifts?” King Dùghlas called over from slightly further down the table.

“Aye, Father. I spoke with the young lady during her stay here and her parents were very pushy about her betrothal. And out of all the young women I have been offered, she is the only one who stands out, there is just,” Murchadh paused, a look of contemplation settling across his features, and a gentle warmth building in his usually cool gaze, “There is something startling about her, I can not really place it. She is… I can not find a word worthy enough of her,” Murchadh settled his gaze off into the distance with a small sigh and brushed his hand against the scarf at his waist, if Fox did not know any better he would have said Murchadh looked love-struck. As it was, everyone else in the hall was swallowing the entire performance.

“Oh, Princess Merida is a marvelous young lady,” Queen Caena beamed at them from her seat, her favor of the lady was quite well known which had also made Merida an excellent choice for this ruse. “Though she did say she was unready for marriage,”

“I know, it was one of the issues I addressed in my missive, I do not want her parents to force her into a match with me for political reasons or otherwise.” Murchadh stared down at his food with a thoughtful look on his face, mixed with a bit of anxiety, his hand clutching the scarf tightly, “I wish for her to choose me willingly or not at all,”

“Why would the Princess choose you?” Teàrlaidh scoffed, his eyes lighting with a glimmer of disgusted anger, “She has better prospects than you, surely,”

“Teàrlaidh! Apologize; there was no call for that. Your brother is a wonderful man worthy of any woman he decides to love,” the Queen snapped at her child with indignation. She dearly wanted her sons to marry, if for no other reason than to see them happily taken care of for when she would no longer be around.

“I apologize, brother,” Teàrlaidh bit out, barely managing not to snarl, “That was uncalled for,”

“No,” Murchadh sighed heavily, “You are most likely right. What could Merida ever hope to see in me, anyway? I apologize, Mother, I am not feeling very hungry right now. Please excuse me.”

Murchadh stood hastily and made his way out of the hall, hand gripping the little blue and grey scarf as it flashed at his belt. Fox made to follow, sending a glare at Teàrlaidh for added effect before doggedly following his ‘distressed’ master. After dropping by the kitchens to grab two plates of food, he slid into Murchadh’s study with a very pleased grin.

“That could not have gone better if we had scripted every line,” Fox preened as he settled into his chair and placed the dishes on Murchadh’s desk.

“Thank you, Fox,” Murchadh dragged a plate towards himself and tucked in, “The ending was quite unexpected but just dramatic enough to be believable I think. And I got to paint that fool in a bad light, which is more than I am usually able to do.” The scowl that crossed Murchadh’s face was one Fox had learned to associate with Murchadh’s opinions of his brothers. Unfortunately, Murchadh was correct. The three princes almost never came under suspicion for their poor behavior. And they had it in spades. Most of the kingdom thought the four of them were saints, Fox knew better.

Murchadh had been trying to set up his brothers’ undoing for years, and it nearly never worked. Tonight was a rather marvelous step on that front, getting Teàrlaidh to snarl at Murchadh in public with that much venom was almost impossible; to have Murchadh walk away as the victim was a miracle. Teàraidh’s image would be in ruins for days at least, months if they were lucky. Fox could not stop the devious little grin from perching on his lips if he had wanted to.

“Playing the victim was a genius move, acting like you believe you have absolutely no chance with her even though you have fallen for her. Perfect. It will take him a good long while to recover from this.”

“It will not be long enough, that idiot can still recover. I need to crush him completely. His supporters are getting louder, and a few of the lords are warming up to him.”

“We have some time. And I doubt most of the lords could be swayed from you,” Fox relaxed in his chair, “You have been playing politics for far longer, and your reputation is solid with them. The fact that you are proposing to ally with a neighboring kingdom will win you favor as well.”

“Yes, I have thought this through, I just have not acknowledged all the variables yet,” Murchadh grimaced. “Teàrlaidh was very passionate, which does not bode well for us.”

“I had not considered that,” Fox winced, “If he is aiming for the princess as well he is bound to act rashly at some point.”

“Oh, I have no doubt of that,” Murchadh snorted disdainfully. “The child could not accept his losses, he will make moves against us if he truly wants her. Though I rather think he is more likely to use her and discard her like every other woman he has ever looked at. They are not worth his commitment, why would the princess be any different to him. He has not said two words to her together for most of her stay, and she tended to avoid him when ever she could,”

“That would be very bad for Moireach,” Fox scowled down at his empty plate. “Despoiling their only daughter would not go over well with Dunbroch I am certain,”

“Then you will watch her,” Murchadh decided, “We can not risk the alliance, not even for this courting charade. If she comes to true harm under out banner, by one of our own, we will likely not survive the failure. And I will not see my kingdom fall,”

Fox nodded his acceptance of the task, with a shudder of terror teasing his spine. The fire in Murchadh’s eyes was very familiar. It was the same smoldering look he had presented to Fox when they had first settled into their dangerous partnership. When Murchadh had declared he would be king of Moireach with violence in his teeth and wordless threat in his stance. The same scorching look that had seen countless obstacles buried before they could threaten the sanctity of Moireach’s heart. The look that promised and swore and never backed down from his words, that very look that settled upon him like his future crown. It was the very same look that convinced Fox that Murchadh would stand above mortals if he deemed it necessary to preserve his territory.

 

* * *

 

Merida had been avoiding this particular conversation for the past few days, and thankfully Elinor had let her get away with it. Today, however, seemed to be the end of that leniency. And as dreadful as Merida had imagined it to be, once she was sitting in her mother’s rooms and sipping the warm cider Maudie had brought up, the tension was not as bad as she had feared.

“Merida,” Her mother began with a slight sigh, “I need to apologize for my behavior the night you left. Throwing your bow into that fire was a horrible thing to do, I should never have done it. It was cruel and I have no excuses for my actions. But I am sorry I did that to you,” And with that the Queen slid the charred wood onto the little table between them.

“I forgive you,” Merida slouched in her chair, knowing her old bow would likely never shoot again. Her fingers stroked the wood anyway, remembering all the wonderful memories it had shared with her.

“Thank you, and I know it will never be the same but this was sent with you from Moireach. The letter accompanying the gifts says it is for you,”

Merida took the offered bow from her mother’s hand with reverence. It was an older style recurve bow, made of dark stained yew with thin carvings along the limbs and a beautiful bear head carved into the grip.

“I wish they had given it to me in person, it is gorgeous,” Merida slid her hands across the wood, admiring the beautiful craftsmanship and the sturdiness of the wood.

“I know you do not wish to discuss your betrothal, I still do not understand why but I am willing to listen to your arguments this time instead of forcing you to see the situation from my position,” Elinor pulled her away from her admiration of the weapon and back to the reason they were sitting in the Queens rooms in the first place.

“Thank you,” Merida flushed in embarrassment, still stinging lightly from the letter and now realizing how much was probably missing from it. “To be honest, when I got your letter I did not want to listen to your reasons. I thought you were going to force me back into the same position I was in when I fled and I was angry. And a little frightened, I suppose,” Merida took a breath and tried to relax the tension out of her shoulders.

“I didn’t mean to upset you, I was trying to show you my view in this whole thing,” Elinor pinked, it was usually so easy to convey her meaning through words and the fact that she had failed so badly in this instant just highlighted how distant Merida and she had become.

“I know,” Merida winced, “Queen Caena and Sìleas helped me understand a little bit about how important my actions are to the kingdom. And I guess I can deal with it. But, there is another reason I calmed down after reading your letter. I met a ghost.”

“A what?” Elinor straightened in her seat, a shiver of fear curling down her spine.

“A ghost. Her name was Lady Meadhbh of Ruthven, and she died after refusing one of her suitors, he murdered her. She told me about how my words have a lot of weight as the princess. I do not understand everything she told me, but I think I am starting to see it, a bit. And I realize how terrible my actions were on the archery field. I will not apologize for them, because that battle was important to me, but I do understand that I should have handled the situation better.

“But, the reason I mentioned Meadhbh, was because she had a suggestion for me. Because I am not ready for marriage, Mother. And frankly, I do not think any of the lords’ sons are ready yet either. We are still so young. I thought the idea had merit, and so I wanted to put it on the table as a possibility, perhaps?”

“Alright, I am listening Merida,”

“Time. I am not ready to be married, I have dreams and goals that I want to pursue before I think about marrying someone, someone who is worthy of my heart and my hand. I want to ask the lords for four years to either prove their sons worthy of my conditions or myself to prove my worth as a leader on my own. I know I can do this, I just need time.”

“I see,” Merida watched silently as Elinor sat in silence, her eyes turned inward in contemplation. “You may propose it to the lords when they arrive for the winter council in two weeks time, after you have written a suitable apology for the embarrassment they suffered at your hands and practiced it to my satisfaction. If they disagree it will be up to you to persuade them to your way of thinking, and if they refuse, then we will see.”

“Thank you!” Merida launched out of her chair and thumped into her mother as quickly as she could, grasping the woman as tightly as she could in her excitement, “Thank you, thank you, thank you! I know I can do this!”

The two weeks before the council was much more difficult than she had thought it would be. Elinor was a taskmaster when it came to Merida’s two speeches, reading little nuances out of each word she chose and urging Merida to change the timing or the structure. It was grueling, but at least her mother was attempting to help this time rather than just sideline her whole position. Eventually she settled her arguments into comprehensive statements and concise enough wording. And then the clan leaders were arriving and there was no more time for planning.

“My lords, you have been very understanding with us while we searched for our daughter,” Elinor began, “As we learned over a month ago, Merida was found and hosted by a neighboring kingdom. When she returned to us, I spoke with her again on the matters of her betrothal and the tournament both. And she has decided to address you herself.”

Merida stepped forward and turned to large table where the three lords, their advisors, their heirs, and her father were sitting waiting for them to speak before continuing with their meeting. She had dressed today in her nicest outfit, a simple dove-grey dress with soft pastel embroidery along the collar and sleeves. Over it was her thickest robe in soft green wool, tied around her waist with the little green sash to ward off the chill winter that had begun to seep into the castle despite the fires blazing in practically every room. Around her neck she wore Caena’s necklace, the little jewel weighing against her breast to remind her that she was no longer alone in her opinion. Straightening her back with the resolve she had found in Moireach, she took a breath and began.

“My lords, first I must apologize to you and your sons for my terrible manners during the betrothal contest. I acted on my fear and anger without thinking of the consequences, and it was irrational and childish of me. I cannot take back my actions, and in honesty I do not want to. My actions were conceived of desperation and I only regret that they have caused strife through out our great kingdom.

“I have discussed with my mother, the queen, my thoughts on the subject of betrothal and marriage and she has agreed to let me propose my idea to you. I am not ready for any man to claim my hand, so I am asking you for time. I am asking you to allow me four years in which I may finish my training as the princess and grow into my own person. And at the end of those four years, if I have not found or chosen a man to marry then we may reconvene the tournament and the contestant who wins three out of five games may have my hand in marriage.

“I put the decision to you, my lords, and hope that you find this option as agreeable as my mother and I,” Merida gave a polite nod and waited. It did not take long.

“That seems fair enough,” the young Dingwall heir spoke up first.

“What?” Lord Dingwall turned to his son in shock, “But you won the tournament, she should be your wife by now,”

“I did not even want to compete,” wee Dingwall crossed his arms sullenly, “You made me,”

“I have to agree with those two,” young Macintosh nodded seriously, “This whole ‘ancient traditions’ thing is getting a bit old. MacGuffin and me were just talking about this too. It is not like we had any say in the matter either, and we want to be able to live a little before settling down,”

“You feel the same?” Lord MacGuffin raised a heavily furred brow at his son, and seemed to understand what the young man replied though the rest of the room was entirely lost.

“Four years then,” Lord Macintosh squinted down at the little scroll of paper that Elinor had unrolled and set on the table.

“Aye, four years from the winter solstice,” Merida nodded, “And then the next summer games, if I can not find a man worthy of me. Though I think your sons should be able to decide for themselves if they wish to compete or not,” both MacGuffin and Dingwall boys shot her grateful looks at the added condition.

“Fine then,” Dingwall threw up his hands in surrender, “Four years of freedom to do as you wish,”

The three lords signed the little contract and then the king. And after getting copies for their records, settled in to discus the rest of their business for the winter council. Elinor slid the contract to Merida and let her leave the room. Which was a good thing since Merida felt like she was flying. It had worked! She now had enough time to prove that she could be a responsible leader on her own without a husband and she could show them that a betrothal was unnecessary.

The floating feeling held for the rest of the three days of the winter council, she did not even mind when her mother told her to review the meeting notes taken by the scribe and make her own copy for future reference. She was too happy. And then she actually realized what task her mother had given her and dove into it with zeal. Her mother had finally allowed her to look at the kingdom’s issues without Merida having to beg for them. This was progress, and Merida was more than happy to look through the information of the patrol schedules, the tax collection, the census even the odd little not from one of their port villages about the weather turning odd. She was getting into the practical work of running the kingdom, at last.

Six days after the winter council, the snow began to fall as winter slipped over the land. The days grew short, the wind icy, and the nights long and bleak. For the first time in her life though, Merida did not feel trapped by the snow that kept all of Dunbroch prisoner inside the castle walls. She took to her lessons and asked her mother useful questions and began looking into the castle expenses and the larder inventory, even the list of servants and the staff’s request for help. It was a slow process, and she was not perfect at it, but she did learn and she got better with every passing week. And soon enough it was spring again.


End file.
